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THE 

JOSEPH 


WORKS 

OP 

ADDISON, 


mCLTJDINO 


THE  WHOLE  CONTENTS  OF  BP. 
AND  OTHER  PIECES  NOT 
COLLECTION;  AND 
ON  HIS  LIFE 


HURD'S  EDITION,  WITH  LETTERS 
FOUND  IN  ANY  PREVIOUS 
MACAULAY'S  ESSAY 
AND  WORKS. 


EDITED, 

WITH    CRITICAL    AND    EXPLANATORY  NOTES, 
BY  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GREENE. 


**  No  whiter  page  than  Addi3on  remains, 
He  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our  3'outh, 
And  seta  the  passions  on  the  side  of  tnitli  ; 
Forms  the  soft  bosom  with  the  gentlest  art, 
And  pcurs  each  human  virtue  thro'  the  heart." — Popb 


IN      SIX  VOLUMES. 


NEW  YORK: 
DERBY   &  JACKSON,  119    NASSAU  ST., 

CINCINNATI  : — H.  W.  DERBY  &  CO. 

1857. 


Entered  aceordmg  to  Aet  of  Congress,  in  the  year  185S, 
By  GEO.  P.  PUTNAM  &  CO., 
ia  th^  Cl-erk's  Offi««  of  tiie  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tlie  &oariiern 
"JWstrkt  of  New-Yo?k. 


ir,  ^ 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


The  Spectatoe* 

Introductory  Remarks,    xiii 

#1    The  Spectator's  Account  of  himself,  ....  1 
JP    Of  the  Club — Sir  Roger  de  Coverlev — ^the  Templar — Sir 
Andrew  Freeoort — Caotain  Sentrv — Will  Honeycomb 

— ^The  Clergyman,   10 

3.    Public  Credit,  a  Vision,   19 

^    On  the  Absurdities  of  the  Modern  Opera,      ...  23 

7.  Popular  Superstitions,   28 

8.  Letters  on  Masquerades,   82 

9.  Account  of  various  Clubs,   86 

to.    The  Uses  of  the  Spectator,     .       .       .       .       .  .41 

12.  Custom  of  telling  Stories  of  Ghosts  to  Children,       .  45 

13.  Conduct  of  the  Lions  at  the  Opera — Merit  of  Kicolini,  49 

15.  Story  of  Cleanthe — on  Happiness,  exemplified  in  Aurelia 

— ^Fulvia   63 

16.  Various  Articles  of  Dress — Lampoons — Scandal — Poli- 

tics— Letter  from  Charles  Lillie,       ....  5*7 

K    History  of  the  Italian  Opera,   61 


952843 


TABLE     OF  CONTENTS. 


Paqb 


The  Spectator  {Continued), 

21.    Divinity,  Law,  and  Physic  overburdened  with  Practi- 
tioners,     .........  65 

23.    Ill-natured  Satire,   70 

25.    Letter  from  a  Valetudinarian — Excess  of  Anxiety  about 

Health,                                                               .  75 

JS^    Reflections  in  Westminster-Abbey,     ....  79 
28.    Project  of  an  Office  for  the  Regulation  of  Signs — a  Mon- 
key recommended  for  the  Opera,       ....  83 
29     Italian  Recitative — Absurdities  of  the  Opera  Dresses,  87 

81.    Project  of  a  new  Opera,   92 

&k.    Success  of  the  Spectators  with  various  Classes  of  Read- 
ers, represented  by  the  Club   96 

35.    False  Wit  and  Humour — Genealogy  of  Humour,       .  100 

Catalogue  of  a  Lady's  Library — Character  of  Leonora,  .  104 

39.    English  Tragedy — Lee— Otway,         ....  109 

Jl.    Tragedy  and  Tragi-Comedy,    114 

4it    English  Tragedy — Methods  to  aggrandize  the  Persons  in 

Tragedy,   119 

44.  Stage  Tricks  to  excite  Pity — Drjimatic  Murders,    .  .123 

45.  Ill  Consequences  of  the  Peace— French  Fashions — Child- 

ish Impertinence,    129 

46.  The  Spectator's  Paper  of  Hints  dropped — Gospel-gossip 

—Ogling,          .   13S 

Jl.    Theory  of  the  Passion  of  Laughter,   .       .       .       .  137 

50.    Remarks  on  the  English,  by  the  Indian  Kings,       .       .  142 

55.  Eff^eets  of  Avarice  and  Luxury  on  Employments,       .  149 

56.  Vision  of  Marraton,   153 

57.  Mischiefs  of  Party-Rage  in  the  Female  Sex,  .  .  158 
m.    Essay  on  Wit— History  of  False  Wit,     ....  162 

59.  The  same  subject  continued,   167 

60.  Wit  of  the  Monkish  Ages — in  Modern  •Times,        .  172 

61.  The  Subject  continued,   1'3^'7 

m    Difference  between  True  and  False  Wit— Mixt  Wit,      .  181 

63.    Allegory  of  several  Schemes  of  Wit,          .       .       .  188 

68.    On  Friendship   194 


TABLE     OF    CONTENTS.  VU 

Pag  a 

The  Spectator  (Continued), 

^isit  to  the  Royal  Exchange — Benefit  of  Extensive 

Commerce,   198 

J0).    Critique  on  the  Ballad  of  Chevy-Chase,        .       .       .  203 

12.  Account  of  the  Everlasting  Club,       .       .       .       .  210 

13.  Passion  for  Fame  and  Praise — Character  of  the  Idols,  214 
14:.  Continuation  of  the  Critique  on  Chevy-Chase,  .  .  218 
gH.  Female  Party-Spirit  discovered  by  Patches,  .  .  225 
83.    Dream  of  a  Picture  Gallery,   230 

85.  Fate  of  Writings— Ballad  of  the  Children  in  the  Wood,  235 

86.  On  Physiognomy,                                                    .  239 

89.  Lovers — Demurrage — ^Folly  of  Demurrage,     .       .  244 

90.  Punishment  of  a  voluptuous  Man  after  Death — Adven- 

ture of  M.  Pontigna,   249 

92.  Books  for  a  Lady's  Library,    253 

93.  Proper  Methods  of  employing  Time,         .       .       .  257 

94.  Subject  continued — Pursuit  of  Knowledge,    .       .       .  262 
98.    Ladies'  Head-dresses,         .       .              ...  267 
99     The  Chief  Point  of  Honour  in  Men  and  Women — Duel- 
ling,   ....    271 

101     Uncertainty  of  Fame — Specimen  of  a  History  of  the 

Reign  of  Anne  I.,   275 

im.    Exercise  of  the  Fan,   279 

W^.    Will  Honeycomb's  Knowledge  of  the  World — various 

Kinds  of  Pedants,    283 

i#6.    Spectator's  visit  to  Sir  R.  de  Coverley's  Country  Seat — 

the  Knight's  domestic  Establishment,        .       .       .  287 

Character  of  Will  Wimble,         .             ...  291 

110.  On  Ghosts  and  Apparitions,    295 

111.  Immateriality  of  the  Soul,         .       \  '     .       .       .  300 
A  Sunday  in  the  Country — Sir  Roger's  Behaviour  at 

Church,   304 

115.    Labour  and  Exercise,   308 

117.    On  Witchcraft-^tory  of  Moll  White,    ...  312 

119.    Rural  Manners-— Politeness,   316 

V 

IH^.    Instinct  in  Animals,       .              ....  820 


viii 


TABLE     OF  CONTENTS. 


Pagb 


The  Spectator  {Continued^ 

121.    The  Subject  continued — Wisdom  of  Providence,       .  324 

A  Visit  with  Sir  Roger  to  the  Country' Assizes,     .       .  830 

123.  Education  of  Country  'Squires — Story  of  Eudoxus  and 

Leontine,        ........  334 

124.  Use  and  Difficulties  of  Periodical  Papers,       .       .       .  340 

125.  Mischiefs  of  Party  Spirit,   344 

126.  The  Subject  continued — Sir  Roger's  Principles,     .       .  350 

127.  Letter  on  the  Hoop-petticoat,   354 

128.  Difference  of  Temper  in  the  Sexes — Female  Levity,       .  358 

129.  Fashions  in  Dress — How  imitated  in  the  Country,     .  362 

130.  Interview  of  the  Spectator  and  Sir  Roger  with  a  Gang 

of  Gypsies,   366 

131     Opinions  entertained  of  the  Spectator  in  the  Country — 

Letter  from  Will  Honeycomb,  .  .  .  .  369 
135.    Blessing  of  Being  born  an  Englishman — ^The  English 

Tongue,   Z12 

W.    The  Vision  of  Mirza,   .    •   ^11 

10),    On  great  natural  Geniuses,   383 

162.  On  Inconstancy  and  Irresolution,       ....  388 

163.  Consolation,   392 

164.  Story  of  Theodosius  and  Constantia,  .       .       .  396 

165.  Introduction  of  French  Phrases  in  the  History  of  the 

War — ^Specimen  in  a  Letter,      .       .      .       .       .  403 

166.  Durability  of  Writing — Anecdote  of  an  atheistical  Au- 

thor,   407 

169.    On  Good-nature,  as  the  Effect  of  Constitution,        .       .  411 

170    On  Jealousy,   415 

171.    Subject  continued — Address  to  those  who  have  jealous 

Husbands,   420 

173.    Account  of  a  Grinning-match,   427 

177.    Good-nature,  as  a  Moral  Virtue,   431 

179.    Various  Dispositions  of  Readers — Account  of  a  Whist- 
ling-match— Yawning,    436 

181.    Cruelty  of  Parents  in  the  Affair  of  Marriage,         .       .  441 

183.    On  Fable— FablS" of  Pleasure  and  Pain,  .       .  446 


TABLE     OF     CONTENTS.  IX 

Pagb 

The  Spectator  (Continued), 

184.  Account  of  a  remarkable  Sleeper,  ....  451 

185.  Zeal — various  Kinds  of  Zealots,         ....  454 

186.  On  Infidelity,   458 

189.    Cruelty  of  Parents — Letter  from  a  Father  to  his  Son — 

Duty  to  Parents,   462 

191.    On  the  Whims  of  Lottery- Adventurers,         .       .       .  466 

195.    On  Temperance,   4*71 

198.    Character  of  the  Salaman<Jbrs — Story  of  a  Castilian  and 

his  Wife,   476 

201.    Devotion — Enthusiasm,   480 

203.    On  Seducers,  and  their  illicit  Progeny — Letter  from  a 

natural  Son,   482 

205.  Description  of  a  Female  Pander — affected  Method  of 
Psalm-singing — Erratum  in  the  Paper  on  Drink- 
ing,   489 

207.    Notions  of  the  Heathen  on  Devotion,         .       .       .  494 

209.    Simonides's  Satire  on  Women,   499 

211.    Transmigration  of  Souls — ^Letters  on  Simonides's  Satire 

on  Women,"    ........  504 

213.    On  habitual  good  Intentions,   609 

215.    Education — compared  to  Sculpture,   ....  61$ 
219.    Quality — Yanity  of  Honours  and  Titles,       .       .       .  61*7 
221.    Use  of  Mottoes — Love  of  Latin  among  the  Common  peo- 
ple— Signature  Letters,   521 

223.    Account  of  Sappho,        .       .  •       .       •       .  526 

225.    Discretion  and  Cunning,   530 

227.    Letter  on  the  Lover's  Leap,   534 

229.    Fragment  of  Sappho,   539 

231.    Reflections  on  Modesty,   543 

233.    History  of  the  Lover's  Leap,   548 

236.  Account  of  the  Trunkmaker  in  the  Theatre,         .       .  552 

237.  On  the  Ways  of  Providence,   556 

239.    Various  Ways  of  managing  a  Debate,  .       .  560 

241.    Letter  on  the  Absence  of  Lovers — Remedies  proposed,  664 

243.    On  the  Beauty  and  Loveliness  of  Virtue,         .       .  568 


TABLE     OF  CONTENTS. 


Pag» 

The  Spectator  {Continued), 

245.    Simplicity  of  Character — Letters  on  innocent  Diversions 

— A-bsent  Lovers — from  a  Trojan,      ....  571 

247.    Different  Classes  of  Female  Orators,  .       .       .  676 

^ilP.    Laughter  and  Ridicule,         .       .  ...  680 

261.    Letter  on  the  Cries  of  London,  .  .  684 


THE  SPECTATOR. 


INTEODUCTORT  REMAKK8. 


The  first  number  of  the  Spectator  was  published  on  the  1st  of  March, 
1711,  about  two  months  after  the  last  of  the  Tatler.  It  immediately  took 
its  place  as  the  most  interesting  publication  of  the  day,  and  the  sale,  which 
has  been  estimated  at  14,000  daily  copies,  rose  on  some  occasions  to  20,000. 
At  first  it  was  a  daily,  came  out  every  morning,  and  was  considered  a8  an 
indispensable  accompaniment  of  breakfast.  In  this  form  it  continued  till 
December  6,  1712,  when  it  was  dropped  for  a  year  and  a  half  to  reappear  on 
the  18th  of  June,  1714.  The  continuation,  though  equal  in  merit  to  the 
original  work,  came  out  three  times  a  week,  and  was  dropped  before  the 
end  of  the  year,  Dec.  20.  The  original  publication  was  on  a  folio  sheet, 
containing  at  the  end,  a  few  advertisements,  but  no  reference  as  in  the  Tat- 
ler, to  the  political  occurrences  of  the  day.  It  was  afterwards  collected  into 
volumes,  and  in  this  form  became  a  permanent  ornament  of  every  bookshelf. 

The  whole  number  of  papers  is  six  hundred  and  thirty-five,  of  which 
Addison  wrote  two  hundred  and  seventy-four.  Much  speculation  has  been 
wasted  upon  the  reasons  of  his  choice  of  a  signature.  Steele  speaks  of  hina 
as  using  the  letters  which  form  the  name  of  Clio — which,  if  we  take 
into  account  his  early  fondness  for  Herodotus,  will  not  be  thought  improb- 
able. Nichols,  who  can  see  no  ground  for  such  a  choice,  supposes  him  to 
have  used  them  as  initials  of  the  place  where  he  wrote — C.  for  Chelsea — 
L.  London — I.  Islington — O.  Office — "a  supposition,"  which,  as  Drake 
gravely  observes,  '*  wants  confirmation." 

A  more  important  question  has  been  started  as  to  the  original  concep- 
tion of  the  whole  work,  which  is  evidently  planned  with  greater  care  than 
its  predecessor.  If  we  were  to  take  the  circumstances  into  consideration, 
we  should  say  that  it  was  planned  in  concert  with  Steele,  that  the  charac- 


xiv 


SPECTATOR. 


ter  of  the  Spectator  was  drawn  by  Addison,  and  the  club,  including  Sir 
Roger,  sketched,  and  why  not  conceived,  by  Steele?  Such  would  be  the 
natural  reasoning  from  the  facts,  which  nothing  but  enmity  towards  Steele 
could  have  perplexed  with  so  many  idle  and  groundless  conjectures. 

Of  the  numerous  eulogiums  which  this  admirable  work  has  called  forth, 
the  following  is  perhaps  the  most  judicious  and  comprehensive: 

"While  the  circle  of  mental  cultivation  was  thus  rapidly  widening  in 
France,  a  similar  progress  was  taking  place,  upon  a  larger  scale,  and  under 
still  more  favorable  circumstances,  in  England.  To  this  progress  nothing 
contributed  more  powerfully  than  the  periodical  papers  published  under 
various  titles  by  Addison  and  his  associates.  The  effect  of  these  in  re- 
claiming the  public  taste  from  the  licentiousness  and  grossness  introduced 
into  England  at  the  period  of  the  Restoration  ;  in  recommending  the  most 
serious  and  important  truths  by  the  united  attractions  of  wit,  humor,  im- 
agination, and  eloquence  ;  and,  above  all,  in  counteracting  those  supersti- 
tious terrors  which  the  weak  and  ignorant  are  so  apt  to  mistake  for  relig- 
ious and  moral  impressions — has  been  remarked  by  numberless  critics,  and 
is  acknowledged  even  by  those  who  felt  no  undue  partiality  in  favor  of 
the  authors.  Some  of  the  papers  of  Addison,  however,  are  of  an  order 
still  higher,  and  bear  marks  of  a  mind  which,  if  early  and  steadily  turned 
to  philosophical  pursuits,  might  have  accomplished  much  more  than  it 
ventured  to  undertake.  His  frequent  references  to  the  Essay  on  Human 
Understanding,  and  the  high  encomiums  with  which  they  are  always  ac- 
companied, show  how  successfully  he  had  entered  into  the  spirit  of  that 
work ;  and  how  completely  he  was  aware  of  the  importance  of  its  object. 
The  popular  nature  of  his  publications,  indeed,  which  rendered  it  necessary 
for  him  to  avoid  every  thing  that  might  savour  of  scholastic  or  of  meta- 
physical discussion,  has  left  us  no  means  of  estimating  his  philosophical 
depth,  but  what  are  afforded  by  the  results  of  his  thoughts  on  the  particu- 
lar topics  which  he  has  occasion  to  allude  to,  and  by  some  of  his  incidental 
comments  on  the  scientific  merits  of  preceding  authors.  But  these  means 
are  sufficiently  ample  to  justify  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  sound  and  un- 
prejudiced judgment,  as  well  as  of  the  extent  and  correctness  of  his  lite- 
rary information.  Of  his  powers  as  a  logical  reasoner  he  has  not  enabled 
us  to  form  an  estimate ;  but  none  of  his  contemporaries  seem  to  have  been 
more  completely  tinctured  with  all  that  is  most  valuable  in  the  metaphysi- 
cal and  ethical  systems  of  his  time.* 

a  T  quote  the  following  passage  from  Addison,  not  as  a  specimen  of  his  metaphysical  ac- 
umen, but  as  a  proof  of  his  good  sense  in  divining  and  obviating  a  difficulty  which  I  believe 
most  persons  will  acknowledge  occurred  to  themselves  when  they  first  entered  on  meta- 
physical studies:— 

"Although  we  divide  the  soul  into  several  powers  and  feculties,  there  is  no  such  division 
in  the  soul  itself;  since  it  is  the  whole  sozil  that  remembers,  understands,  wills,  or  imagines. 
Our  manner  of  considering  the  memory,  understanding,  will,  imagination,  and  the  like  fao- 


SPECTATOR. 


XV 


"But  what  chiefly  entitles  the  name  of  Addison  to  a  place  in  this  Dis- 
course, is  his  JEssays  on  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination;  the  first  attempt  in 
England  to  investigate  the  principles  of  the  fine  arts;  and  an  attempt 
which,  notwithstanding  many  defects  in  the  execution,  is  entitled  to  the 
praise  of  having  struck  out  a  new  avenue  to  the  study  of  the  human  mind, 
more  alluring  than  any  which  had  been  opened  before.  In  this  respect,  it 
forms  a  most  important  supplement  to  Locke's  Survey  of  the  Intellectual 
Powers;  and  it  has,  accordingl}^  served  as  a  text,  on  which  the  greater 
part  of  Locke's  disciples  have  been  eager  to  offer  their  comments  and  their 
corrections.  The  progress  made  by  some  of  these  in  exploring  this  inter- 
esting region  has  been  great;  but  let  not  Addison  be  defrauded  of  his 
claims  as  a  discoverer. 

"Similar  remarks  may  be  extended  to  the  hints  suggested  by  Addison 
on  Wit,  on  Humor,  and  on  the  Causes  of  Laughter.  It  cannot,  indeed,  be 
said  of  him,  that  he  exhausted  any  one  of  these  subjects  ;  but  he  had  at 
least  the  merit  of  starting  them  as  Problems  for  the  consideration  of  phi- 
losophers ;  nor  would  it  be  easy  to  name  among  his  successors,  a  single 
writer,  who  has  made  so  important  a  step  towards  their  solution,  as  the 
original  proposer. 

"The  philosophy  of  the  papers,  to  which  the  foregoing  observations  re- 
fer, has  been  pronounced  to  be  slight  and  superficial,  by  a  crowd  of  modern 
metaphysicians  who  were  but  ill  entitled  to  erect  themselves  into  judges 
on  such  a  question.  The  singular  simplicity  and  perspicuity  of  Addison's 
style  have  contributed  much  to  the  prevalence  of  this  prejudice.  Eager 
for  the  instruction,  and  unambitious  of  the  admiration  of  the  multitude,  he 
every  where  studies  to  bring  himself  down  to  their  level ;  and  even  when 
he  thinks  with  the  greatest  originality,  and  writes  with  the  most  inimita- 
ble felicity,  so  easily  do  we  enter  into  the  train  of  his  ideas,  that  we  can 
hardly  persuade  ourselves  that  we  could  not  have  thought  and  written  in 
the  same  manner.  He  has  somewhere  said  of  "fine  writing,'*  that  it 
"consists  of  sentiments  which  are  natural,  without  being  obvious:"  arjd 
his  definition  has  been  applauded  by  Hume,  as  at  once  concise  and  just. 
Of  the  thing  defined,  his  own  periodical  essays  exhibit  the  most  perfect 
examples. 

"  To  this  simplicity  and  perspicuity,  the  wide  circulation  which  his 
works  have  so  long  maintained  among  all  classes  of  readers,  is  in  a  great 
measure  to  be  ascribed.  His  periods  are  not  constructed,  like  those  of 
Johnson,  to  "elevate  and  surprise,"  by  filling  the  ear  and  dazzling  the 
fancy;  but  we  close  his  volumes  with  greater  reluctance,  and  return  to 
the  perusal  of  them  with  far  greater  alacrity.    Franklin,  whose  fugitive 

ulties,  is  for  the  better  enabling  us  to  express  ourselves  in  such  abstracted  subjects  of  specu- 
lation, not  that  there  is  any  such  division  in  the  soul  itself"  In  another  part  of  the  safhe 
paper,  Addison  observes,  that  "  what  we  call  the  faculties  of  the  soul,  are  only  the  diflFerent 
ways  or  modes  in  which  the  soul  can  exert  Xiex&cM— {Spectator,  No.  GOO.; 


SPECTATOR. 


publications  on  political  topics  have  had  so  extraordinary  an  influence  on 
public  opinion,  both  in  the  Old  and  New  Worlds,  tells  us  that  his  style  in 
writing  was  formed  upon  the  model  of  Addison :  Nor  do  I  know  any  thing 
in  the  history  of  his  life  which  does  more  honor  to  his  shrewdness  and  sa- 
gacity. The  copyist,  indeed,  did  not  possess  the  gifted  hand  of  his  master, 
— Museo  conlingens  cuncta  lepore  ;  "  — but  such  is  the  effect  of  his  plain 
and  seemingly  artless  manner,  that  the  most  profound  conclusions  of  po- 
litical economy  assume,  in  his  hands,  the  appearance  of  indisputable 
truths ;  and  some  of  them,  which  had  been  formerly  confined  to  the  specu- 
lative few,  are  already  current  in  every  country  in  Europe,  as  proverbial 
maxims." — Stewart's  History  of  the  Progress  of  Moral  and  Political  Phi- 
losophy, dhc.y  pp.  805-307. 


The  Notes  to  the  Spectator  are  drawn  from  various  sources,  which  may 
generally  be  known  by  the  initial — 
a  "Kurd. 
C.  Chalmers. 

L.     London  edition  of  British  Essayists,  3  vols.  8vo. 
N.  Nichols. 
G.  Greene. 

Those  on  the  Coverley  papers  marked  with  a  star  are  from  the  receni 
London  edition  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. — G. 


THE  SPEGTATOE.' 


Nq  1.    THUKSDAY,  MARCH  1,  1710-11. 

!N"on  fiimum  ex  fulgore,  sed  ex  fumo  dare  lucem 
Cogitat,  lit  speciosa  dehinc  miracula  promat. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet.  v.  143. 

One  with  a  flash  begins,  and  ends  in  smoke, 
The  other  out  of  smoke  brings  glorious  light, 
And  (without  raising  expectations  high) 
Surprises  us  with  dazzling  miracles. — Eoscommon'. 

I  HAVE  observed,  that  a  reader  seldom  peruses  a  book  with 
pleasure,  till  he  knows  whether  the  writer  of  it  be  a  black  or  a 
fair  man,  of  a  mild  or  choleric  disposition,  married  or  a  bachelor, 

*  Of  the  three  periodical  papers,  in  which  Mr.  Addison  was  happily 
induced  to  bear  a  part,  the  only  one,  which  was  planned  by  himself,*  was 
the  Spectator.  And,  how  infinitely  superior  is  the  contrivance  of  it,  to 
that  of  the  other  two ! 

The  notion  of  a  club,  on  which  it  is  formed,  not  only  gave  *  dramatic 
air  to  the  Spectator,  but  a  sort  of  unity  to  the  conduct  of  it ;  as  it  tied  to- 
gether the  several  papers,  into  what  may  be  called  one  work,  by  the  re- 
ference they  all  have  to  the  same  common  design. 

This  design,  too,  was  so  well  digested  from  the  first,  that  nothing  oc- 
curs afterwards  (when  the  characters  come  out  and  shew  themselves  at  full 

*  Mr.  Tickell  says,  it  was  projected  in  concert  with  Sir  Eichard  Steele,  which  comes 
to  the  same  thing.— H. 


2  SPECTATOR.  [No.  1. 

with  other  particulars  of  the  like  nature,  that  conduce  very  much 
to  the  right  understanding  of  an  author.  To  gratify  this  curi- 
osity, which  is  so  natural  to  a  reader,  I  design  this  paper  and 
my  next  as  prefatory  discourses  to  my  following  writings,  and 
shall  give  some  account  in  them  of  the  several  persons  that  are 
engaged  in  this  work.  As  the  chief  trouble  of  compiling,  digest- 
ing, and  correcting,  will  fall  to  my  share,  I  must  do  myself  the 
justice  to  open  the  work  with  my  own  history. 

I  was  born  to  a  small  hereditary  estate,  which,  according  to 
the  tradition  of  the  village  where  it  lies,  was  bounded  by  the 
same  hedges  and  ditches  in  William  the  Conqueror's  time  that 
it  is  at  present,  and  has  been  delivered  down  from  father  to  son 
whole  and  entire,  without  the  loss  or  acquisition  of  a  single  field 
or  meadow,  during  the  space  of  six  hundred  years. ^  There  runs 
a  story  in  the  family,  that  when  my  mother  was  gone  with  child 
of  me  about  three  months,  she  dreamt  that  she  was  brought  to 
bed  of  a  judge  :  whether  this  might  proceed  from  a  law-suit  which 
was  then  depending  in  the  family,  or  my  father's  being  a  justice 
of  the  peace,  I  canno^  determine ;  for  I  am  not  so  vain  as  to 

1  It  was  strange,  said  Charles  II.,  on  hearing  a  similar  declaration,  that 
there  was  not  in  all  that  time  a  wise  man  or  a  fool  in  the  family. — C. 


length,  in  the  course  of  the  work)  for  which  we  are  not  prepared,  by  the 
general  outline  of  them,  as  presented  to  us  in  tlie  introductoi'j  papei-s  ;  so 
that,  if  we  did  not  know  the  contrary,  we  might  suspect  that  tliese  pnpers, 
like  the  preface  to  a  book,  had  been  wn*itten  after  the  wliole  was  printed 
off,  and  not  before  a  syllable  of  it  was  composed.  Such  was  the  effect  of 
the  original  plan,  and  the  care  of  its  author, 

"  Primo  ne  meclium,  medio  ne  discrepet  imurn ! " 

As  for  his  coadjutor.  Sir  Richard  Steele,  he  knew  the  world,  or  rather 
what  is  called  the  town,  well,  and  had  a  considerable  fund  of  wit  and 
humour;  but  his  wit  was  often  forced,  and  h:s  liumour  ungraceful;  not  but 
his  style  would  give  this  appearance  to  each,  bemg  at  once  incorrect  and 
heavy.  His  graver  papers  are  imiversally  hard  and  labored,  though,  at 
the  same  time,  superficial.  Some  better  writers  contributed,  occasionally, 
to  carry  on  this  work ;  but  its  success  was,  properly,  owing  to  the  match- 
less pen  of  Mr.  Addison. — H. 


No.  1.] 


SPECTATOR. 


3 


think  it  presaged  any  dignity  that  I  should  arrive  at  in  my  future 
life,  though  that  was  the  interpretation  which  the  neighbourhood 
put  upon  it.  The  gravity  of  my  behaviour  at  my  very  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  world,  and  all  the  time  that  I  sucked,  seemed 
to  favour  my  mother's  dream  ;  for,  as  she  has  often  told  me,  I 
threw  away  my  rattle  before  I  was  two  months  old,  and  would 
not  make  use  of  my  coral  till  they  had  taken  away  the  bells 
from  it. 

As  for  the  rest  of  my  infancy,  there  being  nothing  in  it  re- 
markable, I  shall  pass  it  over  in  silence.  I  find,  that  during 
my  non-age,  I  had  the  reputation  of  a  very  sullen  youth,  but 
was  always  a  favourite  of  my  schoolmaster,  who  used  to  say,  that 
my  parts  were  solid,  and  would  wear  well.  I  had  not  been  long 
at  the  university,  before  I  distinguished  myself  by  a  most  pro- 
found silence  :  for  during  the  space  of  eight  years,  excepting  in 
the  public  exercises  of  the  college,  I  scarce  uttered  the  (juantity 
of  an  hundred  words  ;  and  indeed  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
spoke  three  sentences  together  in  my  whole  life.  Whilst  I  was 
in  this  learned  body,  I  applied  myself  with  so  much  diligence  to 
my  studies,  that  there  are  very  few  celebrated  books,  either  in 
the  learned  or  modern  tongues,  which  I  am  not  acquainted 
with. 

Upon  the  death  of  my  father,  I  was  resolved  to  travel  into 
foreign  countries,  and  therefore  left  the  university  with  the  cha- 
racter of  an  odd  unaccountable  fellow,  that  had  a  great  deal  of 
learning,  if  I  would  but  shew  it.  An  insatiable  thirst  after 
knowledge  carried  me  into  all  the  countries  of  Europe  in  which 
there  was  any  thing  new  or  strange  to  be  seen  :  nay,  to  such  a 
degree  was  my  curiosity  raised,  that  having  read  the  controver- 
sies of  some  great  men  concerning  the  antiquities  of  Egypt,  I 
made  a  voyage  to  Grand  Cairo,  on  purpose  to  take  the  measure 
of  a  p  y ramid ;  and  as  soon  as  I  had  set  myself  right  in  that 


4 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  1. 


particular,  returned  to  my  native  country  with  great  satis- 
faction.^ 

I  have  passed  my  latter  years  in  this  city,  where  I  am  fre- 
quently seen  in  most  public  places,  though  there  are  not  above 
half  a  dozen  of  my  select  friends  that  know  me  ;  of  whom  my 
next  paper  shall  give  a  more  particular  account.  There  is  no 
place  of  general  resort,  wherein  I  do  not  often  make  my  appear- 
ance ;  sometimes  I  am  seen  thrusting  my  head  into  a  round  of 
politicians  at  Will's,^  and  listening  with  great  attention  to  the 
narratives  that  are  made  in  those  little  circular  audiences.  Some- 

1  A  half  century's  contention  respecting  the  exact  admeasurement 
of  the  Great  Pyramid  of  Gizeh  was  a  fair  subject  for  ridicule,  in  spite 
of  Dr.  Percy's  stigma,  that  the  satire  was  reprehensible."  Mr.  John 
Greaves  originated  the  argument  so  long  before  the  publication  of  this 
harmless  raillery  as  1646,  in  his  work  entitled  "  Pyramidologia ; "  and  it 
seems  to  have  been  carried  on  with  burning  zeal  and  wonderful  learning 
to  the  days  of  the  "  Spectator,"  although  death  had  removed  Greaves 
from  the  discussion  in  1652.  In  No.  7.  the  "Spectator"  says,  "I  design  to 
visit  the  next  masquerade  in  the  same  habit  I  wore  at  Grand  Cairo." — * 

2  The  Coffee-houses.  The  chief  places  of  resort  were  coffee  and 
chocolate  houses,  in  which  some  men  almost  lived ;  insomuch  that  who- 
ever wished  to  find  a  gentleman  commonly  asked,  not  where  he  resided, 
but  which  coffee-house  he  frequented  ?  No  decently  attired  idler  was  ex; 
eluded,  provided  he  laid  down  his  penny  at  the  bar;  but  this  he  could 
seldom  do  without  struggling  through  the  crowd  of  beaux  who  fluttered 
round  the  lovely  bar-maid.  Here  the  proud  nobleman  or  country  squire 
was  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  genteel  thief  and  daring  highwayman. 
"Pray,  sir,"  says  Aimwell  to  Gibbet,  in  Farquhar's  "Beaux  Stratagem,'* 
"ha' n't  I  seen  your  face  at  Will's  coffee-house  ?  "  The  robber's  reply  is: — 
"Yes,  sir;  and  at  White's  too," 

Coffee-houses,  from  the  time  of  their  commencement  in  1652,  served 
instead  of  newspapers :  they  were  arence  for  political  discussion.  Journal- 
ism was,  in  1710,  in  its  infancy:  the  first  daily  newspaper  ("The  Daily 
Courant,")  was  scarcely  .two  years  old,  and  was  too  small  to  contain  much 
news;  as  were  the  other  journals  then  extant.  Hence  the  fiercely  con- 
tested polemics  of  the  period  were  either  waged  in  single  pamphlets,  or  in 
periodicals  started  to  advocate  or  to  oppose  some  particular  question,  and 
laid  down  when  that  was  settled.  The  peaceful  leading  article  and  mild 
letter  "  to  the  Editor  "  had  not  cotoe  into  vogue  as  safety-valves  for  the 


No.  1.] 


SPECTATOP.  . 


5 


times  I  smoke  a  pipe  at  Child's,  and  whilst  I  seem  attentive  to 
nothing  but  the  postman,  overhear  the  conversation  of  every 
table  in  the  room.  I  appear  on  Sunday  nights  at  St.  J ames^s 
Coffee-house,  and  sometimes  join  the  little  committee  of  politics 
in  the  inner  room,  as  one  who  comes  there  to  hear  and  improve. 

escape  of  overboiling  party  zeal ;  and  the  hot  blood,  roused  in  public 
rooms  to  quarrelling  pitch,  was  too  often  cooled  by  the  rapier's  point. 

Each  coffee-house  had  its  political  or  literary  speciality ;  and  of  those 
enumerated  in  the  present  paper,  Will's  was  the  rendezvous  for  the  wits 
and  poets.  It  was  named  after  William  Urwin,  its  proprietor,  and  was 
situated  at  No.  1,  Bow-street,  at  the  corner  of  Great  Russell-street,  Covent 
Garden ;  the  coffee-room  was  on  the  first  floor,  the  lower  part  having  been 
occupied  as  a  retail  shop.  Dryden's  patronage  and  frequent  appearance 
made  the  reputation  of  the  house ;  which  was  afterwards  maintained  by 
other  celebrated  characters.  De  Foe  wrote — about  the  year  1720 — that 
*  after  the  play,  the  best  company  go  to  Tom's  or  Will's  Coffee-house  near 
adjoining ;  where  there  is  playing  picquet  and  the  best  conversation  till 
midnight.  Here  you  will  see  blue  and  green  ribbons  and  stars  familiarly, 
and  talking  with  the  same  freedom,  as  if  they  had  left  their  quality  and 
degrees  of  distance  at  home."  The  turn  of  conversation  is  happily  hit  off 
in  the  ''Spectator"  for  June  12th,  1712,  when  a  false  report  of  the  death 
of  Louis  XIY.  had  reached  England: — "Upon  my  going  into  Will's  I 
found  their  discourse  was  gone  off  from  the  death  of  the  French  king  to 
that  of  Monsieur  Boileau,  Racine,  Corneille,  and  several  other  poets  ;  whom 
they  regretted  on  this  occasion,  as  persons  who  would  have  obliged  the 
world  with  very  noble  elegies  on  the  death  of  so  great  a  prince,  and  so 
eminent  a  patron  of  learning."  It  was  from  Will's  coffee-house  that  the 
Tatler  "  dated  his  poetry. 

Child's  was  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  Its  vicinity  to  the  cathedral 
and  Doctors'  Commons  made  it  the  resort  of  the  clergy  and  other  ecclesi- 
astical loungers.  In  one  respect  Child's  was  superseded  by  the  Chapter 
in  Paternoster  Row. 

The  St.  James's  was  the  "  Spectator's  "  head-quarters.  It  stood  at  the 
end  of  Pall  Mall — of  which  it  commanded  a  perspective  view — near  to,  if 
not  upon,  the  site  of  what  is  now  No.  87  St.  James's-street,  and  close  to 
Ozinda's  chocolate  house.  These  were  the  great  party  rallying  places  j 
"a  whig,"  says  De  Foe,  ''would  no  more  go  to  the  Cocoa  Tree  or  Ozinda's 
than  a  tory  would  be  seen  at  St.  James's."  Swift,  however,  frequented 
the  latter  during  his  sojourn  in  London,  1 710—13  j  till,  fighting  in  the  van 
of  the  tory  ranks,  he  could  no  longer  show  his  face  there,  and  was  obliged 
to  relinquish  the  society  of  those  literary  friends  whom,  tliough  whigs,  he 


6 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  1. 


Mj  face  is  likewise  very  well  known  at  the  Grecian,  the  Cocoa- 
Tree,  and  in  the  Theatres  both  of  Drury-Lane  and  the  Hay- 
Market.  I  have  been  taken  for  a  merchant  upon  the  Exchange 
for  above  these  ten  years,  and  sometimes  pass  for  a  Jew  in  the 
assembly  of  stockjobbers  at  Jonathan's  :  in  short,  wherever  I  see 

cherished.  Up  to  that  time  all  his  letters  were  addressed  to  the  bl.  James's 
coffee-house,  and  those  from  Mrs.  Johnston  (Stella)  were  enclosed  tinder 
cover  to  Addison.  Elliot,  who  kept  the  house,  acted  confidential (y  for  hisj 
customers  as  a  party  agent ;  and  was  on  occa^^ions  placed  on  a  irlendlj' 
footing  with  his  distinguished  guests.  In  Swift's  Journal  to  Stei#a,  undei 
the  date  of  November  19,  lYlO,  we  find  the  following  entry: — lois  even 
ing  I  chi-istened  our  coffee-man  Elliot's  child ;  when  the  rogue  had  a  most 
noble  supper,  and  Steele  and  I  sat  amongst  some  scurvy  company  ovei 
a  bowl  of  punch."  This  must  have  included  some  of  Elliot's  more  iniimdte 
or  private  friends;  for  he  numbered  amongst  his  customers  nearly  all 
the  Whig  aistocraey.  The  "  ratler"(who  dated  his  politics  from  the  ot. 
James's),  enumerating  the  chariies  he  was  at  to  entertain  his  readers, 
assures  them  that  "a  good  observer  cannot  even  speak  with  Kidney, 
['keeper  of  the  book  debts  of  the  outlying  customers,  and  observer  of  all 
those  who  go  off  without  paying,'*]  without  clean  linen." 

The  "Spectator,"  in  his  403rd  number,  gives  a  graphic  picture  of  the 
company  in  the  coffee-room  : — "  I  first  of  all  called  in  at  St.  Jamesrs,  where 
I  found  the  whole  outward  room  in  a  buzz  of  politics.  The  speculations 
were  but  very  inditferent  towards  the  door,  but  grew  finer  as  you  advanced 
to  the  uj>per  end  of  the  room,  and  were  so  very  much  improved  by  a  knot 
of  theoi'ists,  who  sat  in  the  inner  room,  within  the  steams  of  the  coffee-pot, 
that  1  there  heard  the  whole  Spanish  monarchy  disposed  of,  and  all  the  line 
of  Bourbon  provided  for,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

The  "Grecian  "in  Devereux  Court  derived  its  name  from  a  Greek 
named  Constantme,  who  introduced,  from  the  laud  of  Epicurus,  a  new  and 
improved  method  of  making  coffee.  Perhaps  from  this  cause,  or  from 
having  set  u})  his  apparatus  close  to  the  Temple,  he  drew  the  learned  to 
his  rooms.  "All  accounts  of  learning,"  saith  the  Tatler,  "shall  be  under 
the  title  of  the  'Grecian.'"  The  alumni  appear  to  have  disputed  at  a 
particular  table.  "I  cannot  keep  an  ingenious  man,"  continues  Bicker- 
staff,  "to  go  daily  to  the  'Grecian'  without  allowing  him  some  plain 
Spanish  to  be  as  able  as  others  at  the  learned  table."  The  glory  of  the 
"Grecian"  outlasted  that  of  the  rest  of  the  coffee-houses,  and  it  remained 
a  tavern  till  1843. 

"  Jonatuan's,"  in  Change  Alley,  the  general  mart  for  stockjobbers,  was 
*  Spectator,  No.  24. 


Ko.  1.] 


SPECTATOR. 


7 


a  cluster  of  people,  I  always  mix  with  tliem,  though  I  never  open 
my  lips  but  in  my  own  club. 

Thus  I  live  in  the  world  rather  as  a  Spectator  of  mankind, 
than  as  one  of  the  species  ;  by  which  means  I  have  made  myself 
a  speculative  statesman,  soldier,  merchant,  and  artizan,  without 
ever  meddling  with  any  practical  part  in  my  life.  I  am  very 
well  versed  in  the  theory  of  a  husband  or  a  father,  and  can  dis- 
cern the  errors  in  the  oeconomy,  business  and  diversion  of  others, 
better  than  those  who  are  engaged  in  them  ;  as  standers-by  dis- 
cover blots,  which  are  apt  to  escape  those  who  are  in  the  game. 
I  never  espoused  any  party  with  violence,  and  am  resolved  to 
observe  an  exact  neutrality  between  the  Whigs  and  Tories,  un- 
less I  shall  be  forced  to  declare >myself  by  the  hostilities  of  either 
side.  In  short,  I  have  acted  in  all  the  parts  of  my  life  as  a 
looker-on,  which  is  the  character  I  intend  to  preserve  in  this 
paper. 

I  have  given  the  reader  just  so  much  of  my  history  and  cha- 
racter, as  to  let  him  see  I  am  not  altogether  unqualified  for  the 
business  I  have  undertaken.  As  for  other  particulars  in  my  life 
and  adventures,  I  shall  insert  them  in  following  papers,  as  I 
shall  see  occasion.  In  the  mean  time,  when  I  consider  how 
much  I  have  seen,  read,  and  heard,  I  begin  to  blame  my  own 
taciturnity ;  and  since  I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to 
communicate  the  fulness,  of  my  heart  in  speech,  I  am  resolved 
to  do  it  in  writing,  and  to  print  myself  out,  if  possible,  before  I 
die.  I  have  been  often  told  by  my  friends,  that  it  is  pity  so  many 
useful  discoveries  which  I  have  made  should  be  in  the  possession 
of  a  silent  man.    For  this  reason,  therefore,  I  shall  publish  a 

the  precursor  of  the  present  Stock  Exchange  in  Capel  Court.  The  hero 
ot  Mrs.  Ceritlivre's  comedy,  "A  Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife,"  performs  at 
"Jonathan's"  his  most  successful  deception  on  the  city  guardian  of  his 
mistress. 

The  other  coffee-houses  will  be  noticed  as  they  occur  in  the  text, — * 


8 


SPECTATOR. 


sheet-full  of  thouglits  every  morning,  for  the  benefit  of  my  con- 
temporaries ;  and  if  I  can  any  way  contribute  to  the  diversion 
or  improvement  of  the  country  in  which  I  live,  I  shall  leave  it, 
when  I  am  summoned  out  of  it,  with  the  secret  satisfaction  of 
thinking  that  I  have  not  lived  in  vain. 

There  are  three  very  material  points  which  I  have  not  spoken 
to  in  this  paper ;  and  which,  for  several  important  reasons,  I  must 
keep  to  myself,  at  least  for  some  time  :  I  mean  an  account  of  my 
name,  my  age,  and  my  lodgings.  I  must  confess,  I  would  gratify 
my  reader  in  any  thing  that  is  reasonable ;  but  as  for  these  three 
particulars,  though  I  am  sensible  they  might  tend  very  much  tc 
the  embellishment  of  my  paper,  I  cannot  yet  come  to  a  resolution 
of  communicating  them  to  the  public.  They  would  indeed  draw 
me  out  of  that  obscurity  which  I  have  enjoyed  for  many  years, 
and  expose  me  in  public  places  to  several  salutes  and  civilities, . 
which  have  been  always  very  disagreeable  to  me ;  for  the  greatest 
pain  I  can  suffer,  is  the  being  talked  to,  and  being  stared  at.  It 
is  for  this  reason  likewise,  that  I  keep  my  complexion  and  dress 
as  very  great  secrets;  though  it  is  not  impossible,  but  I  may 
make  discoveries  of  both  in  the  progress  of  the  work  I  have  un- 
dertaken. 

After  having  been  thus  particular  upon  myself,  I  shall  in  to- 
morrow's paper  give  an  account  of  those  gentlemen  who  are  con- 
cerned with  me  in  this  work ;  for,  as  I  have  before  intimated,  a 
plan  of  it  is  laid  and  concerted  (as  all  other  matters  of  importance 
are)  in  a  club.^    However,  as  my  friends  have  engaged  me  to 

^  The  word  club,  as  applied  to  convivial  meetings,  is  derived  from 
the  Saxon  cleafan,  to  divide,  " because,"  says  Skinner,  "the  expenses  are 
divided  into  shares  or  portions." 

"Clubs  wore  more  general  in  the  da^'s  of  the  "  Spectator"  than  perhaps 
at  any  other  period  of  our  history.  Throughout  the  previous  half-century 
public  discord  had  dissevered  private  society  ;  and,  at  the  Restoration, 
men  yearned  for  fellowship  ;  but  as,  even  yet,  political  danger  lurked 
under  an  unguarded  expression  or  a  rash  toast,  companions  could  not  be 


No.  1.] 


SPECTATOR. 


9 


stand  in  the  front,  those  who  have  a  mind  to  correspond  with  me, 
may  direct  their  letters  to  the  SPECTATOR,  at  Mr.  Buckley's, 
in  Little  Britain.^     For  I  must  further  acquaint  the  reader, 

too  carefully  chosen.  Persons,  therefore,  whose  political  opinions  and 
private  tastes  coincided,  made  a  practice  of  meeting  in  clubs.  This  prin- 
ciple of  congeniality  took  all  manner  of  odd  social  turns  ;  but  the  political 
clubs  of  the  time  played  an  important  part  in  history. 

The  idea  of  uniting  the  authors  of  a  periodical  in  a  club — though  an 
obvious  one — was  calculated  to  bring  out  sparkling  contrasts  of  character. 
But  it  was  not  successfully  elaborated.  Each  personage  was  greatly  dis- 
sociated from  the  club  in  future  papers.  Hence  the  faults  some  critics 
have  found  with  the  character  of  Sir  Roger  ;  for,  taken  in  connection  with 
the  society,  it  is  not  so  coherent  as  if  the  club  scheme  had  been  efficiently 
developed.  But  viewed  separately,  what — as  the  reader  of  the  previous 
pages  will  own — can  be  more  harmonious  or  natural  ? 

The  eccentric  clubs  were  fruitful  sources  of  satire  to  the  "Spectator." 
He  is  merry  on  the  "Mummers,"  the  "Two-penny,"  the  "Ugly,"  the 
"Fighting,"  the  "Fringe-Glove,"  the  "Hum-drum,"  the  "Doldrum,"  the 
Everlasting,"  and  the  "  Lovers' "  clubs ;  on  clubs  of  fat  men,  of  tall  men, 
>f  one-e^^ed  men,  and  of  men  who  lived  in  the  same  street.  This  last  was 
1  social  arrangement  almost  necessary  at  a  time  when  distant  visits  were 
impossible  at  night,  not  only  from  the  bad  condition  of  the  streets,  but  from 
the  ravages  of  the  dastardly  "Mohock  Club  ;  "  of  which  hereafter. — * 

^  "This  day  is  published, 
A  Paper  entitled  The  Spectator,  which  will' be  continued  every  day. 
Printed  for  Sam.  Buckley  at  the  Dolphin,  in  Little  Britain,  and  sold  by  A. 
Baldwin,  in  Warwick  Lane." — Daily  Courant,  March  1st,  1711. 

The  above  names  form  the  imprint  to  the  "  Spectator's  "  early  papers. 
From  ^o.  18  appears,  in  addition,  "Charles  Lillie  [perfumer,  bookseller, 
and  Secretary  to  the  Tatler's  *  Court  of  Honour ']  at  the  corner  of  Beaufort 
Buildings,  in  the  Strand."  From  the  date,  August  5th,  1712,  (No.  449,) 
Jacob  Tonson's  imprint  is  appended.  About  that  time  he  removed  from 
Gray's  Inn  Gate  to  "  the  Strand,  over  against  Catherine  Street." 

Samuel  Buckley  had  eventually  an  innocent  hand  in  the  discontinuance 
of  the  "Spectator."  He  was  the  "writer  and  printer"  of  the  first  daily 
newspaper — the  "  Daily  Courant ;  "  and  having  published  on  the  7th  of 
April,  1712,  a  memorial  of  the  States-General  reflecting  on  the  English 
Government,  he  was  brought  in  custody  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. The  upshot  was  some  strong  resolutions  respecting  the  licentious- 
ness of  the  press  (which  had  indeed  been  commented  on  in  the  Queen's 
Speech  at  the  opening  of  Parliament)  and  the  imposition  of  the  halfpenny 
stamp  on  periodicals.  To  this  addition  to  the  price  of  the  "Spectator  "  is 
attributed  its  downfall. — 
VOL.    V. — 1* 


10 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  2. 


that  thongli  our  club  meets  ouly  on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays,  we 
have  appointed  a  Committee  to  sit  every  night,  for  the  inspection 
of  all  such  papers  as  may  contribute  to  the  advancement  of  the 
public  weal.  C.^ 


No.  2.    FRIDAY,  MARCH  2. 

 Ast  alii  sex 

Et  plures,  uno  conclamant  ore. 

Juv.  Sat.  vii.  16T. 

Six  more  at  least  join  their  consenting  voice. 

^  The  first  of  our  society  is  a  gentleman  of  Worcestershire,  of 
an  >ient  descent,  a  baronet,  his  name  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly.  His 
great  grandfather  was  inventor  of  that  famous  country-dance 

^  V.  Introductory  remarks. — G. 

'■^  Whenever  any  striking  individuality  appears  in  print,  the  public  love 
to  suppose  that,  instead  of  being  the  embodied  representative  of  a  class,  it  is 
an  actual  portrait.  A  thousand  conjectures  were  afloat  as  to  the  original  of 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverly,  at  the  time  and  long  after  the  "Spectator's  "  papers 
were  in  current  circulation.  These  were  revived  by  a  passage  in  the  preface 
to  Budgell's  "  Theoplirastus,"  in  which  he  asserted  in  general  terms  that  most 
of  tlie  characters  in  the  "  Spectator  "  were  conspicuously  known.  It  was  not, 
however,  till  1783,  when  Tyers  named  Sir  John  Packington  of  Westwood, 
Worcestershire,  that  any  prototype  to  Sir  Rogei*  was  definitively  pointed  out. 

Tyers's  assertion  is  not  tenable.  Except  that  Sir  Roger  and  Sir  John 
were  both  baronets  and  lived  in  Worcestershire,  each  presents  few  points 
of  similitude  to  the  other  : — Sir  Roger  was  a  disappointed  bachelor  ;  Sir 
John  was  twice  married:  Sir  Roger,  although  more  than  once  returned 
knight  of  the  shire,  was  not  an  ardent  politician  ;  Sir  John  was,  and  sat 
for  his  native  county  in  every  parliament,  save  one,  from  his  majority  till 
his  death.  West  wood  House — *'  in  the  middle  of  a  wood  that  is  cut  into 
twelve  large  ridings  ;  the  whole  encompassed  with  a  park  of  six  or  seven 
miles,"* — bears  no  greater  resemblance  to  the  description  of  Coverly 
Hall  than  the  scores  ot  country-houses  which  liave  wood  about  them.  Sir 
Roger  is  neither  litigant  nor  lawyer,  despite  the  universal  applause  bestow- 
ed by  the  Quarter  Session  on  his  exj>ositions  of  "a  passage  in  the  Game 
Act."    Sir  John  was  a  barrister,  and  besides  having  been  Recorder  of  the 

*  Nasb's  Worcestershire. 


Ko.  2.] 


SPECTATOR. 


11 


which  is  called  after  him.^  All  who  know  that  shire,  are  very 
well  acquainted  with  the  parts  and  merits  of  Sir  Roger.  He  is  a 
gentleman  that  is  very  singular  in  his  behaviour,  but  his  singula- 

city  of  Worcester,  proved  himself  so  powerful  a  plaintiff  that  he  ousted 
the  then  Bishop  of  Worcester  from  his  place  of  Royal  Almoner  for  inter- 
fering in  the  county  election. 

The  account  of  the  "  Spectator  "  himself  and  of  each  member  of  his  club 
was  most  likely  fictitious  ;  for  the  "Tatler"  having  been  betrayed  into 
personalities  gave  such  grave  offence,  that  Steele  determined  not  to  fall 
again  into  a  like  error.  Had  indeed  the  originals  of  Sir  Roger  and  his  club- 
companions  existed  among,  as  Budgell  assert?,  the  "  conspicuous  charac- 
ters of  the  day,"  literary  history  would  assuredly  have  revealed  them. 
But  a  better  witness  than  Budgell  testifies  to  the  reverse.  The  "Spectator" 
emphatically  disclaims  personality  in  various  passages.  In  No.  262  he 
iays:  "When  I  place  an  imaginary  name  at  the  head  of  a  character,  I  ex- 
amine every  syllable,  every  letter  of  it,  that  it  may  not  bear  any  resem- 
blance to  one  that  is  real."  In  another  place  :  "I  would  not  make  my- 
self merry  with  a  piece  of  pasteboard  that  is  invested  with  a  public  cha- 
racter."— * 

^  The  real  sponsor  to  the  joyous  conclusion  of  every  ball  has 
only  been  recently  revealed  after  a  vigilant  search.  An  autograph 
account  by  Ralph  Thoresby,  of  the  family  of  Calverley  of  Calverley  in 
Yorkshire,  dated  1717,  and  which  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Sir  W.  Cal- 
verley Trevelyan,  states  that  the  tune  of  "  Roger  a  Calverley  "  was  named 
after  Sir  Roger  of  Calverley,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Richard  the  First. 
This  knight,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  period,  kept  minstrels,  who 
took  the  name,  from  their  office,  of  "  Harper.  Their  descendants  possess- 
ed lands  in  the  neiglibourhood  of  Calverley,  called  Harperfroids  and  Har- 
per's Spring.  "The  seal  of  this  Sir  Roger,  appended  to  one  of  his  charters, 
is  large,  with  a  chevalier  on  horseback." 

The  earliest  printed  copy  of  the  tune  which  has  yet  been  traced  is  in 
"a  choice  collection  to  a  ground  for  a  treble  violin,"  by  J.  Playford,  1685. 
It  appears  again  in  1695  in  H.  Playford's  "Dancing  Master."  Mr.  Chap- 
pell,  author  of  the  elaborate  work  on  English  Melodies,  believes  it  to  have 
been  a  hornpipe.  That  it  was  popular  about  the  "Spectator's"  time  is 
shown  from  a  passage  in  a  satirical  history  of  Powel  the  puppet-man  (1715) : 
— "Upon  the  preludes  being  ended  each  party  fell  to  bawling  and  calling 
for  particular  tunes.  The  hobnailed  fellows,  whose  breeches  and  lungs 
seemed  to  be  of  the  same  leather,  cried  out  for  *  Cheshire  Round,'  'Roger 
of  Coverley,'  'J<mn's  Placket,'  and  *  Northern  Nancy.'" 

Steele  owned  that  the  notion  of  adapting  the  name  to  the  good  genial 
old  knight,  originated  with  Swift. — * 


12 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  2. 


rities  proceed  from  liis  good  sense,  and  are  contradictions  to  the 
manners  of  the  world,  only  as  he  thinks  the  world  is  in  the  wrong. 
However,  this  humour  creates  him  no  enemies,  for  he  does  nothing 
with  sourness  or  obstinacy ;  and  his  being  unconfined  to  modes 
and  forms,  makes  him  but  the  readier  and  more  capable  to  please 
and  oblige  all  who  know  him.  When  he  is  in  town,  he  lives  in 
Soho-square.^  It  is  said,  he  keeps  himself  a  bachelor  by  reason 
he  was  crossed  in  love  by  a  perverse  beautiful  widow  of  the  next 
county  to  him.  Before  this  disappointment,  Sir  Roger  was  what 
you  call  a  fine  gentleman,  had  often  supped  with  my  Lord  Ro- 
chester and  Sir  George  Etherege,  fought  a  duel  upon  his  first 
coming  to  town,  and  kicked  Bully  Dawson^  in  a  public  cofi'ee- 
house  for  calling  him  youngster.  But  being  ill  used  by  the  above- 
mentioned  widow,  he  was  very  serious  for  a  year  and  a  half;  and 
though,  his  temper  being  naturally  jovial,  he  at  last  got  over  it, 

1  Sir  Roger  had  doubtless  chosen  this  fashionable  locality  in  the  ''fine 
gentleman "  era  of  his  career.  We  shall  presently  see,  that  on  his  sub- 
sequent visits  to  town,  he  changed  his  lodgings  to  humbler  neighbour- 
hoods. The  splendour  of  Soho  Square  was  only  dawning,  when  foreign 
princes  were  taken  to  see  Bloomsbury  Square  as  one  of  the  wonders  of 
England.  In  1681,  the  former  had  no  more  than  eight  residences  in  it,  and 
the  palace  of  the  unfortunate  Duke  of  Monmouth  filled  up  the  entire  south 
side.  During  Sir  Roger's  supposed  residence  in  Soho  (then  also  called 
King's)  Square,  he  had  for  a  neighbour  Bishop  Burnet.  Only  a  few  years 
later  it  lost  caste;  for  by  1717  we  find  from  Walpole's  "Anecdotes  of 
Painting  "  that  Monmouth  House  had  been  converted  into  auction-rooms. 

Sir  Roger  changed  his  residence  at  each  subsequent  visit  to  London. 
The  "Spectator"  in  his  335th  number  lodges  him  in  Norfolk  Street,  Strand, 
and  in  No.  410,  in  Bow  Street,  Covent  Garden. — * 

^  Dawson  was  a  swaggering  gentleman  at  large,  when  Etheridge  and 
Rochester  were  in  full  vogue.  One  of  the  manuscript  notes,  by  01d3's, 
upon  the  margins  of  the  copy  of  Langbaine's  account  of  the  English 
Dramatic  Poets  in  the  British  Museum,  p.  450,  mentions  him  thus: — 

"The  character  of  Captain  Hackman  in  this  comedy  [Shadwell's  'Squire 
of  Alsatia']  was  drawn,  as  I  have  been  told,  by  old  John  Bowman  tlie 
player,  to  expose  Bully  Dawson,  a  noted  sharper,  swaggerer  and  debauchee 
[ibout  town,  especially  in  Blackfriars  and  its  infamous  purlieus." 


No.  2.]  SPECTATOR.  13 

he  grew  careless  of  himself,  and  never  dressed  afterwards.  He 
continues  to  wear  a  coat  and  doublet  of  the  same  cut  that  were 
in  fashion  at  the  time  of  his  repulse,  which,  in  his  merry  humours, 
he  tells  us,  has  been  in  and  out  twelve  times  since  he  first  wore 
it.  'Tis  said  Sir  Eoger  grew  humble  in  his  desires  after  he  had 
forgot  this  cruel  beauty,  insomuch  that  it  is  reported  he  has  fre- 
quently offended  in  point  of  chastity  with  beggars  and  gypsies  : 
but  this  is  looked  upon  by  his  friends  rather  as  matter  of  raillery 
than  truth.  He  is  now  in  his  fifty-sixth  year,  cheerful,  gay,  and 
hearty ;  keeps  a  good  house  both  in  town  and  country  ;  a  great 
lover  of  mankind ;  but  there  is  such  a  mirthful  cast  in  his  behav- 
iour, that  he  is  rather  beloved  than  esteemed  :  his  tenants  grow 
rich,  his  servants  look  satisfied  ;  all  the  young  women  profess 
love  to  him,  and  the  young  men  are  glad  of  his  company  :  when 
he  comes  into  a  house,  he  calls  the  servants  by  their  names,  and 
talks  all  the  way  up  stairs  to  a  visit.  I  must  not  omit,  that  Sir 
Roger  is  a  justice  of  the  quorum;  that  he  fills  the  chair  at  a 
quarter-session  with  great  abilities,  and  three  months  ago  gained 
universal  applause  by  explaining  a  passage  in  the  game  act. 

The  gentleman  next  in  esteem  and  authority  among  us,  is  an- 
other bachelor,  who  is  a  member  of  the  Inner  Temple  ;  a  man  of 
great  probity,  wit,  and  understanding;  but  he  has  chosen  his 
place  of  residence  rather  to  obey  the  direction  of  an  old  humour- 
some  father,  than  in  pursuit  of  his  own  inclinations.  He  was 
placed  there  to  study  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  is  the  most  learned 
of  any  of  the  house  in  those  of  the  stage.  Aristotle  and  Longinus 
are  much  better  understood  by  him  that  Littleton  or  Coke.  The 
father  sends  up  every  post  questions  relating  to  marriage-articles, 
leases,  and  tenures,  in  the  neighbourhood ;  all  which  questions  he 
agrees  with  an  attorney  to  answer  and  take  care  of  in  the  lump. 
He  is  studying  the  passions  themselves,  when  he  should  be  in- 
quiring into  the  debates  among  men  which  arise  from  them.  He 


14 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  2. 


knows  the  argument  of  each  of  the  orations  of  Demosthenes  and 
Tully,  but  not  one  case  in  the  reports  of  our  own  courts.  No  one 
ever  took  him  for  a  fool ;  but  none,  except  his  intimate  friends, 
know  he  has  a  great  deal  of  wit.  This  turn  makes  him  at  once 
both  disinterested  and  agreeable ;  as  few  of  his  thoughts  are 
drawn  from  business,  they  are  most  of  them  fit  for  conversation. 
His  taste  of  books  is  a  little  too  just  for  the  age  he  lives  in ;  he 
has  read  all,  but  approves  of  very  few.  His  familiarity  with  the 
customs,  manners,  actions,  and  writings  of  the  ancients,  makes 
him  a  very  delicate  observer  of  what  occurs  to  him  in  the  present 
world.  He  is  an  excellent  critic,  and  the  time  of  the  play  is  his 
hour  of  business ;  exactly  at  five  he  passes  through  New-Inn, 
crosses  through  Russei-Court,  and  takes  a  turn  at  Will's  till  the 
play  begins  :  he  has  his  shoes  rubbed  and  his  perriwig  powdered 
at  the  barber's  as  you  go  into  the  Rose.^  It  is  for  the  good  of 
the  audience  when  h.e  is  at  a  play,  for  the  actors  have  an  ambition 
to  please  him. 

The  person  of  next  consideration,  is  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,^ 
a  merchant  of  great  eminence  in  the  city  of  London ;  a  person  of 
indefatigable  industry,  strong  reason,  and  great  experience.  His 
motions  of  trade  are  noble  and  generous,  and  (as  every  rich  man 

^  The  Rose  stood  at  the  end  of  a  passage  in  Russell  Street,  adjoining 
the  theatre  ;  which  then,  be  it  remembered,  faced  Drury  Lane.  It  was 
here  that  on  the  12th  November,  1712,  the  seconds  on  either  side  ar- 
ranged the  duel  fought  the  next  day  by  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  and  Lord 
Mohun,  in  which  both  were  killed  — * 

2  "To  Sir  Roger,  who  as  a  country  gentleman  appears  to  be  a  Tory; 
or,  as  it  is  generally  expressed,  an  adherent  to  the  landed  interesV,  is  op- 
posed to  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  a  new  man  and  a  wealthy  merchant,  zeal- 
ous for  the  money'd  interest,  and  a  Whig.  Of  this  contrariety  of  opinions 
more  consequences  were  at  first  intended  than  could  be  produced  when  the 
resolution  was  taken  to  exclude  party  from  the  paper." — Dr.  Johnsons 
Life  of  Addison, 

No  one  has  ventured  to  name  originals  either  for  the  Templar  or  Sii* 
Andrew  Freepcft't. — * 


No.  2.] 


SPECTATOR. 


15 


has  usually  some  sly  way  of  jesting,  which  would  make  no  great 
figure  were  he  not  a  rich  man)  he  calls  the  sea  the  British  Com- 
mon. He  is  acquainted  with  commerce  in  all  its  parts,  and  will 
tell  you  it  is  a  stupid  and  barbarous  way  to  extend  dominion  by 
arms  ;  for  true  power  is  to  be  got  by  arts  and  industry.  He  will 
often  argue,  that  if  this  part  of  our  trade  were  well  cultivated, 
we  should  gain  from  one  nation ;  and  if  another,  from  another. 
I  have  heard  him  prove,  that  diligence  makes  more  lasting  acqui- 
sitions than  valour,  and  that  sloth  has  ruined  more  nations  than 
the  sword.  He  abounds  in  several  frugal  maxims,  amongst 
which  the  greatest  favourite  is,  ''A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  got." 
A  general  trader  of  good  sense,  is  pleasanter  company  than  a  ge- 
neral scholar ;  and  Sir  Andrew  having  a  natural  unaffected  elo- 
quence, the  perspicuity  of  his  discourse  gives  the  same  pleasure 
that  wit  would  in  another  man.  He  has  made  his  fortunes  him- 
self ;  and  says  that  England  may  be  richer  than  other  kingdoms, 
by  as  plain  methods  as  he  himself  is  richer  than  other  men ; 
though  at  the  same  time  I  can  say  this  of  him,  that  there  is  not 
a  point  in  the  compass  but  blows  home  a  ship  in  which  he  is  an 
owner. 

Next  to  Sir  Andrew  in  the  club-room  sits  Captain  Sentry,  a 
gentleman  of  great  courage,  and  understanding,  but  invincible 
modesty.^  He  is  one  of  those  that  deserve  very  well,  but  are 
very  aukward  at  putting  their  talents  within  the  observation  of 
such  as  should  take  notice  of  them.  He  was  some  years  a  cap- 
tain, and  behaved  himself  with  great  gallantry  in  several  engage- 

^  This  character,  heir  to  Sir  Roger,  is  said — with  no  more  proba- 
bility than  attaches  to  the  imagined  origin  of  the  others — to  have  been 
copied  from  Col.  Kemperifeldt,  father  of  the  Admii  al  who  was  drowned 
in  the  Royal  George  when  it  went  down  to  Spithead  in  1782.  The 
conjecture  probably  had  no  other  foundation — a  very  frail  one — than  an 
eulogium  on  the  coloners  character  in  Captain  Sentry's  letter  to  the  club, 
announcing  his  induction  into  Sir  Roger's  estate,  which  forms  the  last  of 
the  Cov  n-ley  papers.  * 


16 


SPECTATOR. 


rNo.2. 


ments  and  at  several  sieges ;  but  having  a  small  estate  of  his  own, 
and  being  next  heir  to  Sir  Eoger,  he  has  quitted  a  way  of  life  in 
which  no  man  can  rise  suitably  to  his  merit,  who  is  not  something 
of  a  courtier  as  well  as  a  soldier.  I  have  heard  him  often  lament, 
that  in  a  profession  where  merit  is  placed  in  so  conspicuous  a 
view,  impudence  should  get  the  better  of  modesty.  When  he  has 
talked  to  this  purpose,  I  never  heard  him  make  a  sour  expression, 
but  frankly  confess  that  he  left  the  world,  because  he  was  not  fit 
for  it.  A  strict  honesty,  and  an  even  regular  behaviour,  are  in 
themselves  obstacles  to  him  that  must  press  through  crowds,  who 
endeavour  at  the  same  end  with  himself,  the  favor  of  a  commander. 
He  will,  however,  in  his  way  of  talk,  excuse  generals  for  not  dis- 
posing according  to  men's  desert,  or  inquiring  into  it :  for,  says 
he,  that  great  man  who  has  a  mind  to  help  me,  has  as  many  to 
break  through  to  come  at  me,  as  I  have  to  come  at  him  :  there- 
fore he  will  conclude,  that  the  man  who  would  make  a  figure,  es- 
pecially in  a  military  way,  must  get  over  all  false  modesty,  and 
assist  his  patron  against  the  importunity  of  other  pretenders,  by 
a  proper  assurance  in  his  own  vindication.  He  says  it  is  a  civil 
cowardice  to  be  backward  in  asserting  what  you  ought  to  expect, 
as  it  is  a  military  fear  to  be  slow  in  attacking  when  it  is  your 
duty.  With  this  candour  does  the  gentleman  speak  of  himself 
and  others.  The  same  frankness  runs  through  all  his  conversa- 
tion. The  military  part  of  his  life  has  furnished  him  with  many 
adventures,  in  the  relation  of  which  he  is  very  agreeable  to  the 
company;  for  he  is  never  overbearing,  though  accustomed  to  com- 
mand men  in  the  utmost  degree  below  him;  nor  ever  too  obse- 
quious, from  a  habit  of  obeying  men  highly  above  him. 

But  that  our  society  may  not  appear  a  set  of  humourists  un- 
acquainted with  the  gallantries  and  pleasures  of  the  age,  we  have 
among  us  the  gallant  Will.  Honeycomb,^  a  gentleman  who,  ac- 

1  Col.  Cleland  of  the  Life  Guards  has  been  named  as  the  real  person 


^0.  a,]  SPECTATOR.  17 

cording  to  his  years,  should  be  in  the  decline  of  his  life,  but 
having  ever  been  very  careful  of  his  person,  and  always  had  a 
rerj  easy  fortune,  time  has  made  but  very  little  impression, 
either  by  wrinkles  on  his  forehead,  or  traces  in  his  brain.  His 
person  is  well  turned,  of  a  good  height.    He  is  very  ready  at 
that  sort  of  discourse  with  which  men  usually  entertain  women. 
He  has  all  his  life  dressed  very  w^ell,  and  remembers  habits  as 
others  do  men.    He  can  smile  when  one  speaks  to  him,  and 
laughs  easily.    He  knows  the  history  of  every  mode,  and  can 
inform  you  from  which  of  the  French  king's  wenches  our  wives 
and  daughters  had  this  manner  of  curling  their  hair,  that  way  of 
placing  their  hoods  ;  whose  frailty  was  covered  by  such  a  sort  of 
petticoat,  and  whose  vanity  to  shew  her  foot  made  that  part  of 
the  dress  so  short  in  such  a  year  :  in  a  word,  all  his  conversa- 
tion and  knowledge  has  been  in  the  female  world.    As  other 
men  of  his  age  will  take  notice  to  you  what  such  a  minister  said 
upon  such  and  such  an  occasion,  he  will  tell  you  when  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth  danced  at  court,  such  a  woman  was  then  smitten, 
another  was  taken  with  him  at  the  head  of  his  troop  in  the  park. 
In  all  these  important  relations,  he  has  ever  about  the  same- 
time  received  a  kind  glance  or  a  blow  of  a  fan  from  some 
celebrated  beauty,  mother  of  the  present  Lord  such-a-one.  If 
you  speak  of  a  young  commoner  that  said  a  lively  thing  in  the 
house,  he  starts  up,     He  has  good  blood  in  his  veins  :  Tom 
Mirabel  begot  him :  the  rogue  cheated  me  in  that  affair :  that 
young  fellow's  mother  used  me  more  like  a  dog  than  any  woman 
I  ever  made  advances  to."    This  way  of  talking  of  his  very 
much  enlivens  the  conversation  among  us  of  a  more  sedate  turn  ; 
and  I  find  there  is  not  one  of  the  company,  but  myself,  who 
rarely  speak  at  all,  but  speaks  of  him  as  of  that  sort  of  man  who 

here  described :  but,  as  in  the  former  instances,  the  supposition  is  iii  sup- 
ported. * 


18 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  2. 


is  usually  called  a  well-bred  fine  gentleman.  To  conclude  his 
character,  where  women  are  not  concerned,  he  is  an  honest 
worthy  man. 

I  cannot  tell  whether  I  am  to  account  him  whom  I  am  next 
to  speak  of,  as  one  of  our  company  ;  for  he  visits  us  but  seldom : 
but  when  he  does,  it  adds  to  every  man  else  a  new  enjoyment  of 
himself  He  is  a  clergyman,  a  very  philosophic  man,  of  general 
learning,  great  sanctity  of  life,  and  the  most  exact  breeding. 
He  has  the  misfortune  to  be  of  a  very  weak  constitution,  and 
consequently  cannot  accept  of  such  cares  and  business  as  prefer- 
ments in  his  function  would  oblige  him  to  :  he  is  therefore, 
among  divines,  what  a  chamber-counsellor  is  among  lawyers. 
The  probity  of  his  mind,  and  the  integrity  of  his  life,  create  him 
followers,  as  being  eloquent  or  loud  advances  others.  He  seldom 
introduces  the  subject  he  speaks  upon  :  but  we  are  so  far  gone 
in  years,  that  he  observes  when  he  is  among  us,  an  earnestness 
to  have  him  fall  on  some  divine  topic,  which  he  always  treats 
with  much  authoritj^,  as  one  who  has  no  interests  in  this  world, 
as  one  who  is  hastening  to  the  object  of  all  his  wishes,  and  con- 
ceives hope  from  his  decays  and  infirmities.  These  are  my 
ordinary  companions.'' — (Steele.) 

^  Though  this  paper,  in  former  editions,  is  not  marked  with  any  letter 
of  the  word  CLIO,  by  which  Mr.  Addison  distinguished  his  performances, 
it  wa-s  thought  necessary  to  insert  it,  as  containing  characters  of  the  sevei  al 
persons  mentioned  in  the  whole  course  of  this  work. — T. 

(The  characters  were  concerted  with  Mr.  Addison  ;  and  the  draught  of 
them,  in  tliis  paper,  I  suppose  touclied  by  him  ) — IT. 

A  supposition  altogether  gratuitous,  or  rather  founded  upon  the  ccmmen 
tator's  unjustifiable  dislike  of  Steele. — G. 


No.  3.] 


SPECTATOR. 


NO.  3.    SATURDAY,  MARCH  3. 

Quoi  qiiifsque  fero  studio  devinctus  adhaeret : 
Aut  Quibus  in  rebus  multum  sumus  ant6  morati : 
Atque  in  qua  ratione  fuit  contenta  magis  mens ; 
In  somnis  eadem  plerumque  videmur  obire. 

Luce.  L.  4.  9^9. 

.  What  studies  please,  what  most  delight, 

And  fill  men's  thoughts,  they  dream  them  o'er  at  night. 

Creech. 

In  one  of  my  late  rambles,  or  rather  speculations,  I  looked  into 
the  great  hall  where  the  Bank  is  kept,  and  was  not  a  little 
pleased  to  see  the  directors,  secretaries,  and  clerks,  with  all  the 
other  members  of  that  wealthy  corporation,  ranged  in  their 
several  stations,  according  to  the  parts  they  act  in  that  just  and 
regular  aeconomy.  This  revived  in  my  memory  the  many 
discourses  which  I  had  both  read  and  heard  concerning  the 
decay  of  public  credit,  with  the  methods  of  restoring  it,  and 
which,  in  my  opinion,  have  always  been  defective,  because  they 
have  always  been  made  with  an  eye  to  separate  interests,  and 
party  principles. 

The  thoughts  of  the  day  gave  my  mind  employment  for  the 
whole  night,  so  that  I  fell  insensibly  into  a  kind  of  methodical 
dream,  which  disposed  all  my  contemplations  into  a  vision  or 
allegory,  or  what  else  the  reader  shall  please  to  call  it. 

Methoughts''  I  returned  to  the  great  hall,  where  I  had  been 
the  morning  before,  but,  to  my  surprise,  instead  of  the  company 
that  I  left  there,  I  saw  towards  the  upper  end  of  the  hall  a 
beautiful  virgin,  seated  on  a  throne  of  gold.  Her  name  (as  they 
told  me)  was  Public  Credit.  The  walls,  instead  of  being 
adorned  with  pictures  and  maps,  were  hung  with  many  Acts  of 
Parliament  written  in  golden  letters.    At  the  upper  end  of  the 

^  Mefhoughts.  Rather  Methoiight,  for  Methinks  (though  the  composi- 
tion seems  strange)  is  a  verb,  of  which  methought  is  the  preterperfect. — H. 


20 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  3. 


hall  was  the  Magna  Charta,  with  the  Act  of  Uniformity  on  the 
right  hand,  and  the  Act  of  Toleration  on  the  left.  At  the  lower 
end  of  the  hall  was  the  Act  of  Settlement,  which  was  placed  full 
in  the  eye  of  the  virgin  that  sat  upon  the  throne.  Both  the 
sides  of  the  hall  were  covered  with  such  Acts  of  Parliament  as 
had  been  made  for  the  establishment  of  public  funds.  The  lady 
.seemed  to  set  an  unspeakable  value  upon  these  several  pieces  of 
furniture,  insomuch  that  she  often  refreshed  her  eye  with  them, 
and  often  smiled  with  a  secret  pleasure,  as  she  looked  upon 
them ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  shewed  a  very  particular  uneasi- 
ness, if  she  saw  any  thing  approaching  that  might  hurt  them. 
She  appeared,  indeed,  infinitely  timorous  in  all  her  behaviour ; 
and,  whether  it  was  from  the  delicacy  of  her  constitution,  or 
that  she  was  troubled  with  vapours,  as  I  was  afterwards  told  by 
one  who  I  found  was  none  of  her  well-wishers,  she  changed 
colour,  and  startled  at  every  thing  she  heard.  She  was  likewise 
(as  I  afterwards  found)  a  greater  valetudinarian  than  any  I  had 
ever  met  with,  even  in  her  own  sex,  and  subject  to  such  momen- 
tary consumptions,  that,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  she  would 
fall  away  from  the  most  florid  complexion,  and  the  most  health- 
ful state  of  body,  and  wither  into  a  skeleton.  Her  recoveries 
were  often  as  sudden  as  her  decays,  insomuch  that  she  would 
revive  in  a  moment  out  of  a  wasting  distemper,  into  a  habit  of 
the  highest  health  and  vigour. 

I  had  very  soon  an  opportunity  of  observing  these  quick  turns 
and  changes  in  her  constitution.  There  sate  at  her  feet  a  couple 
of  secretaries,  who  received  every  hour  letters  from  all  parts  of 
the  world,  which  the  one  or  the  other  of  them  was  perpetually 
reading  to  her ;  and,  according  to  the  news  she  heard,  to  which 

Any  thing.      It  slioiild  be  something. — II. 
This  note  of  Ilurd  applies  to  the  reading  of  Tickell's  edition  as  if  she  sau\ 
which  has  been  corrected  by  Chalmers  and  other  editors. — G. 


No.  8.] 


SPECTATOR. 


21 


she  was  exceedingly  attentive,  she  changed  colour,  and  discov- 
ered many  symptoms  of  health  or  sickness. 

Behind  the  throne  was  a  prodigious  heap  of  bags  of  money, 
which  were  piled  upon  one  another  so  high,  that  they  touched  the 
ceiling.  The  floor,  on  her  right  hand  and  on  her  left,  was 
^.overed  with  vast  sums  of  gold  that  rose  up  in  pyramids  on  either 
side  of  her  :  but  this  I  did  not  so  much  wonder  at,  when  I  heard, 
upon  inquiry,  that  she  had  the  same  virtue  in  her  touch,  which  the 
poets  tell  us  a  Lydian  king  was  formerly  possessed  of;  and  that 
she  could  convert  whatever  she  pleased  into  that  precious  metal. 

After  a  little  dizziness,  and  confused  hurry  of  thought,  which 
a  man  often  meets  with  in  a  dream,  methoughts  the  hall  was 
alarmed,  the  doors  flew  open,  and  there  entered  a  half  a  dozen  of 
the  most  hideous  phantoms  that  I  had  ever  seen  (even  in  a  dream) 
before  that  time.  They  came  in  two  by  two,  though  matched  in 
the  most  dissociable  manner,  and  mingled  together  in  a  kind  of 
dance.  It  would  be  tedious  to  describe  their  habits  and  persons, 
for  which  reason  I  shall  only  inform  my  reader,  that  the  first 
couple  were  Tyranny  and  Anarchy ;  the  second  were  Bigotry  and 
Atheism ;  the  third,  the  genius  of  a  commonwealth  and  a  young 
man  of  about  twenty-two  years  of  age,^  whose  name  I  could  not 
learn.  He  had  a  sword  in  his  right  hand,  which  in  the  dance  he 
often  brandished  at  the  Act  of  Settlement;  and  a  citizen  who 
stood  by  me,  whispered  in  my  ear,  that  he  saw  a  spunge  in  his  left 
hand.^  The  dance  of  so  many  jarring  natures  put  me  in  mind  of 
the  sun,  moon,  and  earth,  in  the  Rehearsal,^  that  danced  together 
for  no  other  end  but  to  eclipse  one  another. 

The  reader  will  easily  suppose,  by  what  has  been  before  said, 

*  James  Stuart;  born  June  10,  1688,  brother  of  Queen  Anne  and  claim- 
ant of  the  throne,  from  which  he  was  excluded  by  the  act  of  settlement. 
V.  also  Tatler  187.— G. 

^  To  wipe  out  the  national  debt. — C. 

*  Rehearsal- — Act  v.  sc.  1. — C. 


22 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  3. 


that  the  lady  on  the  throne  would  have  been  almost  frightened  to 
distraction,  had  she  seen  but  any  one  of  these  spectres ;  what  then 
must  have  been  her  condition  when  she  saw  them  all  in  a  body  ? 
She  fainted  and  died  away  at  the  sight. 

Et  neque  jam  color  est  misto  candore  rubor! ; 
Nec  vigor,  et  vires,  et  quae  modo  visa  placebant ; 
Nec  corpus  rernanet  

Ov.  Met.  Met.  3.  491. 

 Her  spirits  faint. 

Her  blooming  cheeks  assume  a  pallid  teint, 
And  scarce  her  form  remains. 

There  was  a  great  change  in  the  hill  of  money  bags,  and  the 
heaps  of  money  ;  the  former  shrinking,  and  falling  into  so  many 
empty  bags,  that  I  now  found  not  above  a  tenth  part  of  them  had 
been  filled  with  money.  The  rest  that  took  up  the  same  space, 
and  made  the  same  figure  as  the  bags  that  were  really  filled  with 
money,  had  been  blown  up  with  air,  and  called  into  my  memory 
the  bags  full  of  wind,  which  Homer  tells  us  his  hero  received  as 
a  present  from  ^olus.  The  great  heaps  of  gold,  on  either  side 
the  throne,  now  appeared  to  be  only  heaps  of  paper,  or  little  piles 
of  notched  sticks,  bound  up  together  in  bundles,  like  Bath  fag- 
gots. 

Whilst  I  was  lamenting  this  sudden  desolation  that  had  been 
m^de  before  me,  the  whole  scene  vanished  :  in  the  room  of  the 
frightful  spectres,  there  now  entered  a  second  dance  of  apparitions 
very  agreeably  matched  together,  and  made  up  of  very  amiable 
phantoms.  The  first  pair  was  Liberty,  with  Monarchy  at  her 
right  hand  ;  the  second  was  Moderation  leading  in  Religion ;  and 
the  third,  a  person  whom  I  had  never  seen,^  with  the  genius  of 
Great  Britain.  At  the  first  entrance  the  lady  revived ;  the  bags 
swelled  to  their  former  bulk ;  the  pile  of  faggots,  and  heaps  of 

^  The  Elector  of  Hanover — afterwards  George  I  — 0.  Y.  Freeholder, 
Kg.  2.— G. 


No.  5.] 


SPECTATOR. 


23 


paper,  changed  into  pyramids  of  guineas  :  and,  for  my  own  part, 
I  was  so  transported  with  joy,  that  I  awaked  ;  though,  I  must 
confess,  I  would  fain  have  fallen  asleep  again  to  have  closed  my 
vision,  if  I  could  have  done  it.^  C. 


No.  5.   TUESDAY,  MARCH  6. 

Spectatum  admissi  risum  teneatis?  

HoR.   Ars.  Poet.  Y.  5. 

Admitted  to  the  sight,  would  you  not  laugh  ? 

An  opera  may  be  allowed  to  be  extravagantly  lavish  in  its  de- 
corations, as  its  only  design  is  to  gratify  the  senses,  and  keep  up 
an  indolent  attention  in  the  audience.  Common  sense,  however, 
requires,  that  there  should  be  nothing  in  the  scenes  and  machines 
which  may  appear  childish  and  absurd.  How  would  the  wits 
of  King  Charles's  time  have  laughed  to  have  seen  Nicolini  ex- 
posed to  a  tempest  in  robes  of  ermine,  and  sailing  in  an  open 
boat  upon  a  sea  of  pasteboard  ?  What  a  field  of  raillery  would 
they  have  been  let  into,  had  they  been  entertained  with  painted 
dragons  spitting  wildfire,  enchanted  chariots  drawn  by  Flanders 
mares,  and  real  cascades  in  artificial  landscapes  !  A  little  skill 
in  criticism  would  inform  us,  that  shadows  and  realities  ought  not 
to  be  mixed  together  in  the  same  piece ;  and  that  the  scenes  which 
are  designed  as  the  representations  of  nature,  should  be  filled  with 
resemblances,  and  not  with  the  things  themselves.  If  one  would 
represent  a  wild  champain  country  filled  with  herds  and  flocks,  it 

1  Though  Addison  professes  to  avoid  party  topics  in  the  Spectator,  this 
number  was  a  direct  appeal  to  the  partizans  of  the  House  of  Hanover; 
against  which  some  of  the  leading  Tories  were  supposed  to  be  plotting 
with  the  connivance  of  the  Queen  herself. — G. 


24 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  5 


would  be  ridiculous  to  draw  the  country  only  upon  the  scenes, 
and  to  crowd  several  parts  of  the  stage  with  sheep  and  oxen.  This 
is  joining  together  inconsistencies,  and  making  the  decoration 
partly  real  and  partly  imaginary.  I  would  recommend  what  I 
have  here  said,  to  the  directors,  as  well  as  to  the  admirers,  of  our 
modern  opera. 

As  I  was  walking  in  the  streets  about  a  fortnight  ago,  I  saw 
an  ordinary  fellow  carrying  a  cage  full  of  little  birds  upon  his 
shoulder  ;  and,  as  I  was  wondering  with  myself  what  use  he 
would  put  them  to,  he  was  met  very  luckily  by  an  acquaintance, 
who  had  the  same  curiosity.  Upon  his  asking  him  what  he  had 
upon  his  shouHer,  he  told  him,  that  he  had  been  buying  sparrows 
for  the  opera.  Sparrows  for  the  opera  !  says  his  friend,  licking 
his  lips  ;  what,  are  they  to  be  roasted  ?  No,  no,  says  the  other  ; 
they  are  to  enter  towards  the  end  of  the  first  act,  and  to  fly  about 
the  stage. 

This  strange  dialogue  awakened  my  curiosity  so  far,  that  I 
immediately  bought  the  opera,  by  which  means  I  perceived  the 
sparrows  were  to  act  the  part  of  singing  birds  in  a  delightful 
grove ;  though,  upon  a  nearer  inquiry,  I  found  the  sparrows  put 
the  same  trick  upon  the  audience,  that  Sir  Martin  Mar-all  ^  prac- 
tised upon  his  mistress ;  for,  though  they  flew  in  sight,  the  music 
proceeded  from  a  concert  of  flagelets  and  bird-calls  which  were 
planted  behind  the  scenes.  At  the  same  time  I  made  this  discovery, 
I  found,  by  the  discourse  of  the  actors,  that  there  were  great  de- 
signs on  foot  for  the  improvement  of  the  opera ;  that  it  had  been 

1  Sir  Martin  Mar-all,  or  '  The  Feigned  Innocence,'  a  comedy  made  up  of 
pieces  borrowed  from  Quinault's  'Amant  Indiscret,'  the  '^tourdi'  of 
Moli^re  and  M.  Du  Pares  'Francion' — is  founded  on  a  translation  of  the 
'fitourdi' by  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  who  allowed  Drjden  to  alter  and 
bring  it  forward  for  his  own  benefit.  It  had  a  great  run — chiefly  owing  to 
the  comic  skill  of  Nokes — was  printed  anonymously  in  1668,  and  with  Dry- 
den's  name  in  1697. — Gr. 


No.  6.] 


SPECTATOR. 


25 


proposed  to  break  down  a  part  of  the  wall,  and  to  surprise  the 
audience  with  a  party  of  an  hundred  horse;  and  that  there  was 
actually  a  project  of  bringing  the  New  River  into  the  house,  to 
be  employed  in  jetteaus  and  water-works.^  This  project,  as  I 
have  since  heard,  is  postponed  till  the  summer  season ;  when  it 
is  thought  the  coolness  that  proceeds  from  fountains  and  cascades 
will  be  more  acceptable  and  refreshing  to  people  of  quality.  In 
the  mean  time,  to  find  out  a  more  agreeable  entertainment  for  the 
winter  season,  the  opera  of  Rinaldo  is  filled  with  thunder  and 
lightning,  illuminations  and  fire-works  ;  which  the  audience  may 
look  upon  without  catching  cold,  and  indeed  without  much  dan- 
ger of  being  burnt :  for  there  are  several  engines  filled  with  water, 
and  ready  to  play  at  a  minute's  w^arning,  in  case  any  such  accident 
should  happen.^  However,  as  I  have  a  very  great  friendship  for 
the  owner  of  this  theatre,  I  hope  that  he  has  been  wise  enough  to 
insure  his  house  before  he  would  let  this  opera  be  acted  in  it. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  those  scenes  should  be  very  surprising, 
which  were  contrived  by  two  poets  of  different  nations,  and 
raised  by  two  magicians  of  different  sexes.  Armida  (as  we  are 
told  in  the  argument)  was  an  Amazonian  enchantress,  and  poor 
Siguier  Cassani  (as  we  learn  from  the  persons  represented)  a 
Christian  conjurer ;  (Mago  Christiano).  I  must  confess  I  am 
very  much  puzzled  to  find  how  an  Amazon  should  be  versed  in 
the  black  art ;  or  how  a  good  Christian  (for  such  is  the  part  of 
the  magician)  should  deal  with  the  devil. 

To  consider  the  poets  after  the  conjurers,  I  shall  give  you  a 
taste  of  the  Italian,  from  the  first  lines  of  his  preface  :  Eccoti, 

1  In  modern  times,  the  ne^o  river  has  actually  been  used  both  at  Covent 
Garden  and  in  a  suburban  theatre. — G. 

2  An  alarm  of  fire  having  occasioned  great  confusion  in  the  play-house, 
a  manager  came  forward  and  begged  the  audience  to  be  composed,  for  he. 
had  the  pleasure  to  assure  them  that  there  was  water  enough  a-top  to  di'own 
them  all. — 0. 

Vol.  — 2 


26 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  6. 


henigno  lettore^  un  pario  di  poche  sere^  die  sebhen  nafo  di  notte^ 
non  e  perb  ahorto  di  tenebre^  ma  si  far  a  conoscere  figliolo 
d'' Apollo  con  qualche  raggio  di  Parnasso.  ^  Behold,  gentle 
reader,  the  birth  of  a  few  evenings,  which,  though  it  be  the  off- 
spring of  the  night,  is  not  the  abortive  of  darkness,  but  will 
make  itself  known  to  be  the  son  of  Apollo,  with  a  certain  ray  of 
Parnassus.'  He  afterwards  proceeds  to  call  Mynheer  Handel 
the  Orpheus  of  our  age,  and  to  acquaint  us,  in  the  same  sublim- 
ity of  style,  that  he  composed  this  opera  in  a  fortnight.  Such 
are  the  wits  to  whose  tastes  we  so  ambitiously  conform  our- 
selves. The  truth  of  it  is,  the  finest  writers  among  the  modern 
Italians  express  themselves  in  such  a  florid  form  of  words,  and 
such  tedious  circumlocutions,  as  are  used  by  none  but  pedants  in 
our  own  country ;  and  at  the  same  time  fill  their  writings  with 
such  poor  imaginations  and  conceits,  as  our  youths  are  ashamed 
of  before  they  have  been  two  years  at  the  university.  Some 
may  be  apt  to  think  that  it  is  the  difference  of  genius  which  pro- 
duces this  difference  in  the  works  of  the  two  nations  ;  but  to 
shew  there  is  nothing  in  this,  if  we  look  into  the  writings  of  the 
'Id  Italians,  such  as  Cicero  and  Virgil,  we  shall  find  that  the 
English  writers,  in  their  way  of  thinking  and  expressing  them- 
selves, resemble  those  authors  much  more  than  the  modern 
Italians  pretend  to  do.  And  as  for  the  poet  himself,  from 
whom  the  dreams  of  this  opera  ^  are  taken,  I  must  entirely  agree 
with  Monsieur  Boileau,  that  one  verse  in  Virgil  is  worth  all  the 
clinquant  or  tinsel  of  Tasso.^ 

'  jRinaldo,  an  opern,  planned  by  Aaron  Hill:  versified  by  G.  Rossi,  set 
by  Handel.    Walsh  got  £1,500  by  printing  it.— G. 

2  A  Malherbe,  h  Kacan  pr^fererTheophile 
Et  le  clinquant  du  Tasse  a  tout  Tor  de  Virgile.— Boiieau,  sat  ix.  175. 

By  consulting  this  celebrated  passage  of  Boileau,  it  will  be  seen  that 
it  is  far  from  bearing  out  Addison's  sweeping  assertion.  French  ci  itics  have 
even  restricted  it  to  a  mere  condemnation  of  some  of  the  acknowledged 
faults  of  Tasso's  style.    V.  Notes  on  *  Travels '  pass. — G. 


No.  51 


SPECTATOR. 


27 


But  to  return  to  the  sparrows;  there  have  been  so  many 
flights  of  them  let  loose  in  this  opera,  that  it  is  feared  the 
house  will  never  get  rid  of  them  ;  and  that  in  other  plays  they 
may  make  their  entrance  in  very  wrong  and  improper  scenes,  so 
as  to  be  seen  flying  in  a  lady's  bed-chamber,  or  perching  upon  a 
king's  throne ;  besides  the  inconveniences  which  the  heads  of 
the  audience  may  sometimes  sufi'er  from  them.  I  am  credibly 
informed,  that  there  was  once  a  design  of  casting  into  an  opera 
the  story  of  Whittington^  and  his  cat,  and  that  in  order  to  do  it, 
there  had  been  got  together  a  great  quantity  of  mice  ;  but  Mr. 
Rich,  the  proprietor  of  the  playhouse,  very  prudently  considered, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  cat  to  kill  them  all,  and  that 
consequently  the  princes  of  the  stage  might  be  as  much  infested 
with  mice,  as  the  prince  of  the  island  was  before  the  cat's  arrival 
upon  it;  for  which  reason  he  would  not  permit  it  to  be  acted  in 
his  house.  And  indeed  I  cannot  blame  him  :  for,  as  he  said 
very  well  upon  that  occasion,  I  do  not  hear  that  any  of  the  per- 
formers in  our  opera  pretend  to  equal  the  famous  pied  piper, 
who  made  all  the  mice  of  a  great  town  in  Germany  follow  his 
music,  and  by  that  means  cleared  the  place  of  those  little 
noxious  animals. 

Before  I  dismiss  this  paper,  I  must  inform  my  reader,  that  I 

^  There  was  a  play  entered  on  the  books  of  the  stationer's  company  by 
Thomas  Payner,  Feb.  8,  1604,  *The  History  of  Richard  Whittington,  of 
his  home,  birlhe,  and  of  his  great  fortune,  as  yt  was  plaied  by  the  Prynces 
Servauntes.'  Powel,  the  puppet-showman,  got  up  a  piece  upon  the  same 
subject  (v.  No.  14).  It  may  not  be  unwelcome  to  young  readers  to  be  told 
that  Whittington  lived  at  the  latter  part  of  the  fourteenth  and  beginning 
of  the  fifteenth  century — was  a  mercer,  made  a  large  fortune,  was  mayor 
of  London  four  times,  and  was  buried  three  times  in  St.  Michael's  Church, 
Pater  Noster  vintry  3'ard. — G. 

^  June  26,  1284.  The  rats  and  mice  by  which  Hamelin  was  infested, 
were  allured,  it  is  said,  by  a  piper,  to  a  contiguous  river,  in  which  they 
were  all  drowned. — C. 


28 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  1. 


hear  there  is  a  treaty  on  foot  with  London  and  Wise  ^  (who  will 
be  appointed  gardeners  of  the  playhouse)  to  furnish  the  opera  of 
Rinaldo  and  Armida  with  an  orange-grove  ;  and  that  the  next 
time  it  is  acted,  the  singing  birds  will  be  personated  by  tom-tits: 
the  undertakers  being  resolved  to  spare  neither  pains  nor  money 
for  the  gratification  of  the  audience.  C. 


NO.  7.    THURSDAY,  MARCH  8. 

Somnia,  tcrrores  magicos,  miracnla,  sagas, 
Nocturnos  lemures,  portentaque  Thessala  rides  ? 

Hob.  L.  ii.  Ep.  2,  v.  208. 
Visions,  and  magic  spells,  can  you  despise, 
And  laugh  at  witches,  ghosts,  and  prodigies  ? 

Going  yesterday  to  dine  with  an  old  acquaintance,  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  find  his  whole  family  very  much  dejected.  Upon 
asking  him  the  occasion  of  it,  he  told  me  that  his  wife  had 
dreamt  a  strange  dream  the  night  before,  which  they  were  afraid 
portended  some  misfortune  to  themselves  or  to  their  children. 
At  her  coming  into  the  room,  I  observed  a  settled  melancholy  in 
her  countenance,  which  I  should  have  been  troubled  for,  had  I 
not  heard  from  whence  it  proceeded.  We  were  no  sooner  sate 
down,  but,  after  having  looked  upon  me  a  little  while,  ^  My  dear, 
says  she,  turning  to  her  husband,^  you  may  now  see  the  stranger 
that  was  in  the  candle  last  night.'  Soon  after  this,  as  they  began 
to  talk  of  family  affairs,  a  little  boy  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table 
told  her,  that  he  was  to  go  into  join-hand  on  TJjui'sday.  ^  Thurs- 
day !  '  (says  she^i  '  No^-  child,  if  it  please  God,  you  shall  not  be- 
gin upon  Childermas-day ;  tell  your  writing-master  that  Friday 

1  London  and  Wise  were  the  Queen's  gai  deners  at  this  time,  and  jointly 
3oncerned  in  the  publication  of  a  book  on  gardening. — C. 


No.  v.]  SPECTATOR.  29 

will  be  soon  enough.'  I  was  reflecting  with  myielf  on  the  odd- 
ness  of  her  fancy,  and  wondering  that  any  body  would  establish 
it  as  a  rule  to  lose  a  day  in  every  week.  In  the  midst  of  these 
my  musings,  she  desired  me  to  reach  her  a  little  salt  upon  the 
point  of  my  Knife,  which  I  did  in  such  a  trepidation  and  hurry  of 
obedience,  that  I  let  it  drop  by  the  way ;  at  which  she  imme- 
diately startled,  and  said  it  fell'towards  her.  Upon  this  1  looked 
very  blank  ;  ande,observing  the  concern  of  the  whole  table,  began 
to  consider  myself,  with  some  confusion,  as  a  person  that  had 
brought  a  disaster  upon  the  family.  The  lady.^.  however^ recov- 
ering herself,  after  a  little  space,  said  to  her  husband,  with  a  sigh, 
*  My  deaTj  misfortunes  never  come  single.'  My  friend,  I  found, 
acted  but  an  under^part  at  his  table,  and  being  a  man  of  more 
good-nature  than  understanding,  thinks  himself  obliged  to  fall  in 
with  all  the  pabsions  and  humours  of  his  yoke-fellow.  '  Do  not 
you  remember,  childj'^says  she,]' that  the  pigeon-house  fell  the 
very  afternoon  that  our  careless  wrench  spilt  the  salt  upon  the 
table  ? '  '  Yes,'^ays  hey  '  My '&ear  ;  and  the  next  post  brought 
^  an  account  of  the  battle  of  Almanza.'  ^  The  reader  may  guess 
at  the  figure  I  made,  after  having  done  all  this  mischief.  I  dis- 
patched my  dinner  as  soon  as  I  could,  with  my  usual  tacitur- 
nity;  when,  to^my  utter  confusion,  the  lady  seeing  me  quitting 
my  knife  and  fork,  and  laying  them  across  one  another  upon  my 
plate,  desired  me  that  I  would  humour  her  so  far  as  to  take  them 
out  of  that  figure,  and  place  them  side  by  side.  What  the  ab- 
surdity was  which  I  had  committed  I  did  not  know,  but  I  sup- 
pose there  was  some  traditionary  superstition  in  it ;  and  there- 
fore, in  obedience  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  I  disposed  of  my  knife 
and  lork^in  two  parallel  lines,  which  is  the  figure  I  shall  always 

^  25  April,  llOl — in  which  the  allied  armies  were  defeated  by  the 
Duke  of  Berwick  with  the  loss  of  12,000  men  and  ail  their  artillery  and 
baggage — a  sad  disaster  in  the  eyes  of  an  English  Whig. — C. 


30 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  7. 


lay  them  in  for  the  future,  though  I  do  not  know  any  reason 
for  it. 

It  is  not  difficult  for  a  man  to  see  that  a  person  has  conceived 
^in  aversion  to  him.  For  my  own  part,  I  quickly  found,  by  the 
lady's  looks,  that  she  regarded  me  as  a  very  odd  kind  of  fellow, 
with  an  unfortunate  aspect.  For  which  reason  I  took  my  leave 
immediately  after  dinner,  and  withdrew  to  my  own  lodgings. 
Upon  my  return  home,  I  fell  into  a  profound  contemplation  of 
the  evils  that  attend  these  superstitious  follies  of  mankind  ;  how 
they  subject  us  to  imaginary  afflictions,  and  additional  sorrows, 
that  do  not  properly  come  within  our  lot.  As  if  the  natural 
calamities  of  life  were  not  sufficient  for  it,  we  turn  the  most  in- 
different circumstances  into  misfortunes,  and  suffer  as  much  from 
trifling  accidents,  as  from  real  evils.  I  have  known  the  shooting 
of  a  star  spoil  a  night's  rest ;  and  have  seen  a  man  in  love,  grow 
pale,  and  lose  his  appetite,  upon  the  plucking  of  a  merry-thought. 
A  screech-  owl  at  midnight  has  alarmed  a  family  more  than  a 
band  of  robbers  :  nay,  the  voice  of  a  cricket  hath  struck  more 
terror  than  the  roaring  of  a  lion.  There  is  nothing  so  inconsid- 
erable, which  may  not  appear  dreadful  to  an  imagination  that  is 
filled  with  bmens  and  prognostics.  A  rusty  nail,  or  a  crooked 
pin,  shoot  up  into  prodigies. 

I  remember  I  was  once  in  a  mixt  assembly,  that  was  full  of 
noise  and  mirth,  when  on  a  sudden  an  old  woman  unluckily  ob- 
served there  where  thirteen  of  us  in  company.  This  remark 
scruck  a  pani(?^  terror  ^nto  several  who  were  present,  insomuch 
that  one  or  two  of  the  ladies  were  going  to  leave  the  room ;  but 
a  friend  of  mine  taking  notice  that  one  of  our  female  companions 
was  big  with  child,  affirmed,  there  were  fourteen  in  the  room,  and 
that,  instead  of  portending  one  of  the  company  should  die,  it 
plainly  foretold  one  of  them  should  be  born.  Had  not  my  friend 
found  this  expedient  to  break  the  omen,  I  question  not  but  half 


No.  T.j 


SPECTATOR. 


31 


the  women  in  the  company  would  have  fallen  sick  that  very 
night. 

An  old  maid,  that  is  troubled  with  the  Vapours,  produces  in- 
finite disturbances  of  this  kind  among  her  friends  and  neighbours. 
I  know  a  maiden  aunt  of  a  great  family,  who  is  one  of  these  anti- 
quated Sibyls,  that  forebodes  and  prophecies  from  one  end  of  the 
^ear  to  the  other.  She  is  always  seeing  apparitions,  and  hearing 
death-watches ;  and  was  the  other  day  almost  frighted  out  of  her 
wits  by  the  great  house-dog,  that  howled  in  the  stable  at  a  time 
when  she  lay  ill  of  the  tooth-ach.  Such  an  extravagant  cast  of 
mind  engages  multitudes  of  people,  not  only  in  impertinent  ter- 
rors, but  in  supernumerary  duties  of  life ;  and  arises  from  that 

X 

fear  and  ignorance  which  are  natural  to  the  soul  of  man.  The 
horror  with  which  we  entertain  the  thoughts  of  death  (or  indeed 
of  any  future  evil),  and  the  uncertainty  of  its  approach,  fill  a  mel- 
ancholy mind  with  innumerable  apprehensions  and  suspicions, 
and  consequently  dispose  it  to  the  observation  of  such  groundless 
prodigies  and  predictions.  For  as  it  is  the  chief  concern  of  wise*- 
men  to  retrench  the  evils  of  life  by  the  reasonings  of  philosophy, 
it  is  the  employment  of  fools  to  multiply  them  by  the  sentiments 
of  superstition. 

For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  very  much  troubled  were  I 
endowed  with  this  divining  quality,  though  it  should  inform  me 
truly  of  every  thing  than  can  befal^  me.  I  would  not  anticipate 
the  relish  of  any  happiness,  nor  feel  the  weight  of  any  misery, 
before  it  actually  arrives. 

I  know  but  one  way  of  fortifying  my  soul  against  these  gloomy 
presages  and  terrors  of  mind,  and  that  is,  by  securing  to  my) 
self  the  friendship  and  protection  of  that  Being  who  disposes  of 
events,  and  governs  futurity.  He  sees«at  one  view,  the  whole 
thread  of  my  existence ;  not  only  that  part  of  it  which  I  have  al- 
ready passed  through,  but  that  which  runs  forward  into  all  the 


32  SPECTATOR.  [No.  8. 

X 

depths  of  eternity.  When  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  I  recommend 
elf  to  his  care  ;  when  I  awake,  I  give  myself  up  to  his  direc- 
tion. Amidst  all  the  evils  that  threaten  me,  I  will  look  up  to  him 
for  help,  and  question  not  but  he  will  either  avert  th-em,  or  turn 
them  to  my  advantage.  Though  I  know  neither  the  time  nor  the 
manner  of  the  death  I  am  to  die,  I  am  not  at  all  solicitous  about 
it ;  because  I  am  sure  that  he  knows  them  both,  and  that  he  will 
not  fail  to  comfort  and  support  me  under  them.  C. 


No.  8.    FRIDAY,  MARCH  9. 

At  Venus  obscuro  gradientes  acre  sepsit, 
Et  multo  nebulae  circum  dea  fudit  amictu, 
Cernere  ne  qiiis  eos  

ViRG.  ^n.  1.  415. 
They  march  obscure,  for  Venus  kindly  shrouds 
"With  mists  their  persons,  and  involves  in  chmds. 

Drydkn. 

I  SHALL  here  communicate  to  the  world  a  couple  of  letters, 
which  I  believe  will  give  the  reader  as  good  an  entertainment  as. 
any  that  I  am  able  to  furnish  him,  and  therefore  shall  make  no 
apology  for  them. 

*T0  THE  SPECTATOR,  <fec. 

^SlR, 

*  I  AM  one  of  the  directors  of  the  society  for  the  reformation 
of  manners,  and  therefore  think  myself  a  proper  person  for  your 
correspondence.  I  have  thoroughly  examined  the  present  state 
of  religion  in  Great  Britain,  and  am  able  to  acquaint  you  with 
the  predominant  vice  of  every  market  town  in  tlie  Avliole  islniid. 
I  can  tell  you  the  progress  that  virtue  has  made  in  ail  our  <  itics, 
boroughs,  and  corporations;  and  know  as  w^ell  the  evil  practices 


No.  8.] 


SPECTATOR. 


33 


that  are  committed  in  Berwick  or  Exeter,  as  what  is  done  in  my 
own  family.  In  a  word,  sir,  I  have  my  correspondents  in  the 
remotests  parts  of  the  nation,  who  send  me  up  punctual  accounts 
from  time  to  time,  of  all  the  little  irregularities  that  fall  under 
their  notice  in  their  several  districts  and  divisions. 

^  I  am  no  less  acquainted  with  the  particular  quarters  and 
regions  of  this  great  town,  than  with  the  different  parts  and  dis- 
tributions of  the  whole  nation.  I  can  describe  every  parish  by 
its  impieties,  and  can  tell  you  in  which  of  our  streets  lewdness 
prevails,  which  gaming  has  taken  the  possession  of,  and  where 
drunkenness  has  got  the  better  of  them  both.  When  I  am  dis- 
posed to  raise  a  fine  for  the  poor,  I  know  the  lanes  and  allies  that 
are  inhabited  by  common  swearers.  When  I  would  encourage 
the  hospital  of  Bridewell,  and  improve  the  hempen  manufacture, 
I  am  very  well  acquainted  with  all  the  haunts  and  resorts  ol 
female  night-walkers. 

*  After  this  short  account  of  myself,  I  must  let  you  know,  that 
the  design  of  this  paper  is  to  give  you  information  of  a  certain 
irregular  assembly  which  I  think  falls  very  properly  under  your 
observation,  especially  since  the  persons  it  is  composed  of  are 
criminals  too  considerable  for  the  animadversions  of  our  society. 
I  mean,  sir,  the  midnight  mask,  which  has  of  late  been  very  fre- 
quently held  in  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  parts  of  the  town, 
and  which  I  hear  will  be  continued  with  additions  and  improve- 
ments.^ As  all  the  persons  who  compose  this  lawless  assembly 
are  masqued,  we  dare  not  attack  any  of  them  in  our  way,  lest  we 
should  send  a  woman  of  quality  to  Bridewell,  or  a  peer  of  Great 
Britain  to  the  Counter  ;  besides,  their  numbers  are  so  very  great, 
that  I  am  afraid  they  would  be  able  to  rout  our  whole  fraternity, 
though  we  were  accompanied  with  all  our  guard  of  constables 

I  V.  No§,       101— a 


VOL.  T.— 2* 


34 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  8 


Botli  these  reasons,  which  secure  them  from  our  authority,  make 
them  obnoxious  to  yours ;  as  both  their  disguise  and  their  num- 
bers will  give  no  particular  person  reason  to  think  himself  affront- 
ed by  you. 

^  If  we  are  rightly  informed,  the  rules  that  are  observed  by 
this  new  society,  are  wonderfully  contrived  for  the  advancement 
of  cuckoldom.  The  women  either  come  by  themselves,  or  are 
introduced  by  friends,  who  are  obliged  to  quit  them,  upon  their 
first  entrance,  to  the  conversation  of  any  body  that  addresses 
himself  to  them.  There  are  several  rooms  where  the  parties  may 
retire,  and,  if  they  please,  shew  their  faces  by  consent. 

'  Whispers,  squeezes,  nods,  and  embraces,  are  the  innocent 
freedoms  of  the  place.  In  short,  the  whole  design  of  this  libidi- 
nous assembly,  seems  to  terminate  in  assignations  and  intrigues  ; 
and  I  hope  you  will  take  effectual  methods,  by  your  public  ad- 
vice and  admonitions,  to  prevent  such  a  promiscuous  multitude 
of  both  sexes  from  meeting  together  in  so  clandestine  a  manner. 
I  am  Your  humble  servant, 

and  fellow  labourer, 

T.  B.' 

Not  long  after  the  perusal  of  this  letter,  I  received  another 
upon  the  same  subject ;  which,  by  the  date  and  style  of  it,  I  take 
to  be  written  by  some  young  Templar. 

Middle  Temple,  1110-11. 

^  When  a  man  has  been  guilty  of  any  vice  or  folly,  I  think  the 
best  atonement  he  can  make  for  it,  is  to  warn  others  not  to  fall 
into  the  like.  In  order  to  this,  I  must  acquaint  you,  that  some 
time  in  February  last,  I  went  to  the  Tuesday's  masquerade. 
Upon  my  first  going  in,  I  was  attacked  by  half  a  dozen  female 
quakers,  who  seemed  willing  to  adopt  me  for  a  brother ;  but,  upon 


No.  8.] 


SPECTATOR. 


35 


a  nearer  examination,  I  found  they  were  a  sisterhood  of  coquettes 
disguised  in  that  precise  habit.  I  was  soon  after  taken  out  to 
dance,  and,  as  1  fancied,  by  a  woman  of  the  first  quality,  for  she 
was  very  tall,  and  moved  gracefully.  As  soon  as  the  minuet  was 
over,  we  ogled  one  another  through  our  masques ;  and  as  I  am 
very  well  read  in  Waller,  I  repeated  to  her  the  four  following 
verses  out  of  his  poem  of  Vandyke. 

The  heedless  lover  does  not  know 
Whose  eyes  they  are  that  wound  him  so; 
But,  confounded  with  thy  art, 
Inquires  her  name  that  has  his  heart. 

I  pronounced  these  words  with  such  a  languishing  air,  that 
I  had  some  reason  to  conclude  I  had  made  a  conquest.  She  told 
me  that  she  hoped  my  face  was  not  akin  to  my  tongue ;  and 
looking  upon  her  watch,  I  accidentally  discovered  the  figure  of 
a  coronet  on  the  back  part  of  it.  I  was  so  transported  with  the 
thought  of  such  an  amour,  that  I  plied  her  fi*om  one  room  to 
another  with  all  the  gallantries  I  could  invent ;  and  at  length 
brought  things  to  so  happy  an  issue,  that  she  gave  me  a  private 
meeting  the  next  day,  without  page  or  footman,  coach  or  equi- 
page. My  heart  danced  in  raptures  ;  but  I  had  not  lived  in  this 
golden  dream  above  three  days,  before  I  found  good  reason  to 
wish  that  I  had  continued  true  to  my  laundress.  I  have  since 
heard,  by  a  very  great  accident,  that  this  fine  lady  does  not  live 
far  from  Covent  Garden,  and  that  I  am  not  the  first  cully  whom 
she  has  passed  herself  upon  for  a  countess. 

^  Thus,  sir,  you  see  how  I  have  mistaken  a  cloud  for  a  Juno  ; 
and  if  you  can  make  any  use  of  this  adventure,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  may  possibly  be  as  vain  young  coxcombs  as  myself,  I 
do  most  heartily  give  you  leave.    I  am.  Sir, 

Your  most  humble  admirer, 


86 


SPECTATOR. 


I  design  to  visit  the  next  masquerade  myself,  in  the  same 
habit  I  wore  at  Grand  Cairo  ; '  and  till  then  shal)  suspend  my 
judgment  of  this  midnight  entertainment.'-^  C. 


No.  9.    SATURDAY,  MARCH  10. 

 Tigris  agit  rabida  cum  tigride  pacem 

Perpetuam,  sjBvis  inter  se  convenit  ursis. 

Juv.  Sat.  XV.  163. 
Tiger  with  tiger,  bear  with  bear,  you'll  find 
In  leagues  offensive  and  defensive  join'd. 

Tate. 

Man  is  said  to  be  a  sociable  animal,  and,  as  an  instance  of 
it,  we  may  observe,  that  we  take  all  occasions  and  pretences  of 
forming  ourselves  into  those  little  nocturnal  assemblies,  which 
are  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  clubs.  When  a  set  of  men 
find  themselves  agree  in  any  particular,  though  never  so  trivial, 
they  establish  themselves  into  a  kind  of  fraternity,  and  meet  once 
or  twice  a  week,  upon  the  account  of  such  a  fantastic  resemblance. 
I  know  a  considerable  market-town,  in  which  there  was  a  club  of 
fat  men,  that  did  not  come  together  (as  you  may  well  suppose)  to 
entertain  one  another  with  sprightliness  and  wit,  but  to  keep  one 
another  in  countenance  ;  the  room  where  the  club  met  was  some- 
thing of  the  largest,  and  had  two  entrances,  the  one  by  a  door 
of  a  moderate  size,  and  the  other  by  a  pair  of  folding  doors.  If 
a  candidate  for  this  corpulent  club  could  make  his  entrance 
through  the  first,  he  was  looked  upon  as  unqualified  ;  but  if  he 
stuck  in  the  passage,  and  could  not  force  his  way  through  it,  the 
folding  doors  were  immediately  thrown  open  for  his  reception, 
and  he  was  saluted  as  a  brother.    I  have  heard  that  this  club 

1  y.  No.  1.— a 

-  The  OJ-iguial  folio  had  the  following  notice  :  Letters  for  tlie  Spec- 
tator to  be  left  with  Mr.  Buckley  at  the  Dolphin  iu  Little  Britain. 


No.  9.] 


SPECTATOR. 


37 


though  it  consisted  but  of  fifteen  persons,  weighed  above  three 
ton. 

In  opposition  to  this  society,  there  sprung  up  another,  com- 
posed of  scare-crows  and  skeletons,  who  being  very  meagre  and 
envious,  did  all  they  could  to  thwart  the  designs  of  their  bulky 
brethren,  whom  they  represented  as  men  of  dangerous  principles ; 
till  at  length  they  worked  them  out  of  the  favour  of  the  people, 
and  consequently  out  of  the  magistracy.  These  factions  tore  the 
corporation  in  pieces  for  several  years,  till  at  length  they  came 
to  this  accommodation  ;  that  the  two  bailiffs  of  the  town  should 
be  annually  chosen  out  of  the  two  clubs  :  by  which  means  the 
principal  magistrates  are  at  this  day  coupled  like  rabbits,  one  fat 
and  one  lean. 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  club,  or  rather  the  confederacy, 
of  the  Kings.  This  grand  alliance  was  formed  a  little  after  the 
return  of  King  Charles  the  Second,  and  admitted  into  it  men  of 
all  qualities  and  professions,  provided  they  agreed  in  this  sir- 
name  of  King,  which,  as  they  imagined,  sufficiently  declared  the 
owners  of  it  to  be  altogether  untainted  with  republican  and  anti- 
monarchical  principles. 

A  Christian  name  has  likewise  been  often  used  as  a  badge 
of  distinction,  and  made  the  occasion  of  a  club.  That  of  the 
George's,  which  used  to  meet  at  the  sign  of  the  George,  on  St. 
George's  day,  and  swear  '  Before  George,'  is  still  fresh  in  every 
one's  memory. 

There  are  at  present  in  several  parts  of  this  city  what  they 
call  Street-Clubs,  in  which  the  chief  inhabitants  of  the  street  con- 
verse together  every  night.  I  remember,  upon  my  inquiring 
after  lodgings  in  Ormond-street,  the  landlord,  to  recommend  that 
quarter  of  the  town,  told  me,  there  was  at  that  time  a  very  good 
club  in  it :  he  also  told  me,  upon  further  discourse  with  him, 
that  two  or  three  noisy  country  squires,  who  were  settled  there 


38 


SPECTATOP^. 


[No.  9. 


the  year  before,  had  considerably  sunk  the  price  of  house-rent ; 
and  that  the  chib  (to  prevent  the  like  inconveniencies  for  the 
future)  had  thoughts  of  taking  every  house  that  became  vacant 
into  their  own  hands,  till  they  had  found  a  tenant  for  it,  of  a 
sociable  nature,  and  good  conversation. 

The  Hum-Drum  Club,  of  which  I  was  formerly  an  unworthy 
member,  was  made  up  of  very  honest  gentlemen,  of  peaceable 
dispositions,  that  used  to  sit  together,  smoke  their  pipes,  and  say 
nothing  till  midnight.  The  Mum  Club  (as  I  am  informed)  is 
an  institution  of  the  same  nature,  and  as  great  an  enemy  to 
noise. 

After  these  two  innocent  societies,  I  cannot  forbear  mention- 
ing  a  very  mischievous  one,  that  was  erected  in  the  reign  of 
King  Charles  the  Second :  I  mean,  the  Club  of  Duellists,  in 
which  none  was  to  be  admitted  that  had  not  fought  his  man. 
The  president  of  it  was  said  to  have  killed  half  a  dozen  in  single 
combat ;  and  as  for  the  other  members,  they  took  their  seats 
according  to  the  number  of  their  slain.  There  was  likewise 
a  side-table  for  such  as  had  only  drawn  blood,  and  shewn  a 
laudable  ambition  of  taking  the  first  opportunity  to  qualify 
themselves  for  the  first  table.  This  club,  consisting  only  of 
men  of  honour,  did  not  continue  long,  most  of  the  members 
of  it  being  put  to  the  sword,  or  hanged,  a  little  after  its  in- 
stitution. 

Our  modern  celebrated  clubs  are  founded  upon  eating  and 
drinking,  which  are  points  wherein  most  men  agree,  and  in  which 
the  learned  and  illiterate,  the  dull  and  the  airy,  the  philosopher 
and  the  buifoon,  can  all  of  them  bear  a  part.  The  Kit-Cat  it- 
self is  said  to  have  taken  its  original  from  a  mutton-pye.^  The 

^  This  club,  which  took  its  name  from  Christopher  Cat,  tlie  maker  of 
their  mutton  pies,  was  originally  formed  in  Shire  Lane,  about  the  time  of 
the  trial  of  the  seven  bishops,  for  a  little  free  evening  conversation ;  but 


^^o.  9.] 


SPECTATOR. 


39 


Beef-steak^  and  October  Clubs,  are  neither  of  them  averse  to 
eating  and  drinking,  if  we  may  form  a  judgment  of  them  from 
their  respective  titles. 

When  men  are  thus  knit  together,  by  a  love  of  society,  not  a 
spirit  of  faction,  and  do  not  meet  to  censure  or  annoy  those  that 
are  absent,  but  to  enjoy  one  another  ;  when  they  are  thus  com- 
bined for  their  own  improvement,  or  for  the  good  of  others,  or 
at  least  to  relax  themselves  from  the  business  of  the  day,  by  an 
innocent  and  cheerful  conversation  ;  there  may  be  something 
very  useful  in  these  little  institutions  and  establishments. 

I  cannot  forbear  concluding  this  paper  with  a  scheme  of  laws 
that  I  met  with  upon  a  wall  in  a  little  ale-house  :  how  I  came 
thither,  I  may  inform  my  reader  at  a  more  convenient  time. 
These  laws  were  enacted  by  a  knot  of  artizans  and  mechanics, 
who  used  to  meet  every  night ;  and  as  there  is  something  in 
them  which  gives  us  a  pretty  picture  of  low  life,  I  shall  tran- 
scribe them  word  for  word. 

Rules  to  he  observed  in  the  Two-penny  Club,  erected  inthis place^ 
for  the  preservation  of  friendship  and  good  neighbourhood. 

I.  Every  member  at  his  first  coming  in  shall  lay  down  his 
two-pence. 

in  Queen  Anne's  reign  comprehended  above  forty  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men of  the  first  rank,  all  firm  friends  to  the  Hanoverian  succession.  The 
verses  for  their  toasting  glasses  were  written  by  Garth,  and  the  portraits 
of  all  its  members  painted  by  Kneller,  who  was  himself  one  of  their  num- 
ber ;  hence  all  portraits  of  the  same  dimensions  are  at  this  time  known  by 
the  name  of  Kit  Cat.  Jacob  Tonson,  the  bookseller,  was  their  secretary, 
and  built  a  gallery  at  his  house  at  Barn  Elms,  for  the  reception  of  the  pic- 
tures, and  where  the  club  occasionally  held  its  meetings.  From  Tonson 
this  valuable  collection  has  come  by  inheritance  to  Samuel  Baker,  Esq.,  of 
Hertingfordbury,  near  Hertford. — L.    V.  also  vol.  i.  p.  214. — G. 

^  Of  this  club  it  is  said,  that  Mrs.  Wofiington,  the  only  woman  be- 
longing to  it,  was  president ;  Richard  Estcourt,  the  comedian,  was  their 
probedore,  and,  as  an  honorable  badge  of  his  office,  wore  a  small  gridiron 
of  gold  hung  round  his  neck  with  a  green  silk  riband. — L, 


40 


SPECTATOR. 


[-No.  9. 


II.  Every  member  shall  fill  his  pipe  out  of  his  own  box. 

III.  If  any  member  absents  himself,  he  shall  forfeit  a  pennj 
for  the  use  of  the  club,  unless  in  case  of  sickness  or  imprisonment. 

I Y.  If  any  member  swears  or  curses,  his  neighbour  may  give 
him  a  kick  upon  the  shins. 

V.  If  any  member  tell  stories  in  the  club  that  are  not  true, 
he  shall  forfeit  for  every  third  lie  an  half-penny. 

VI.  If  any  member  strikes  another  wrongfully,  he  shall  pay 
his  club  for  him. 

YII.  If  any  member  brings  his  wife  into  the  club,  he  shall 
pay  for  whatever  she  drinks  or  smokes. 

VIII.  If  any  member's  wife  comes  to  fetch  him  home  from 
the  club,  she  shall  speak  to  him  without  the  door. 

IX.  If  any  member  calls  another  cuckold,  he  shall  be  turned 
out  of  the  club. 

X.  None  shall  be  admitted  into  the  club  that  is  of  the  same 
trade  as  any  member  of  it. 

XI.  None  of  the  club  shall  have  his  clothes  or  shoes  made 
or  mended,  but  by  a  brother  member. 

XII.  No  Nonjuror  shall  be  capable  of  being  a  member. 

The  morality  of  this  little  club  is  guarded  by  such  whole- 
some laws  and  penalties,  that  I  question  not  but  my  reader  will 
be  as  well  pleased  with  them,  as  he  would  have  been  with  the 
Leges  Conviviales  of  Ben  Jonson,  the  regulations  of  an  old  Ro- 
man club  cited  by  Lipsius,  or  the  rules  of  a  Symposium  in  an  an- 
cient Greek  author.^  C. 

1  V.  rulos  for  a  club  formerly  established  in  Philadelphia.  Supplement 
to  Dr.  Franklin's  works,  8vo.  p.  533.  Sec-'  et  Ilis^or}'  of  Chibs,  <fcc.,  8vo.l709, 
I'epublished  with  additions.  12mo.  174ft.  Truth  and  falsehood  are  so  blend- 
ed in  this  catch-penny  book,  that  it  is  difficult  to  collect  any  certain  infor- 
mt^lion  from  it.    The  hi^t  editit)n  is  worse  than  the  first. — C. 


No.  10.] 


SPECTATOR. 


41 


No.  10.    MONDAY,  MARCH  12. 

Non  aliter  quam  qui  adverso  vix  flumine  lembum 

Rfnnigiissubigit :  si  brachia  forte  reinisit, 

Atque  ilium  in  praeceps  prono  rapit  alveus  am'  i. 

ViRG.  Georg.  I.  201. 
So  the  boat's  brawny  crew  the  current  stem. 
And,  slow  advancing,  struggle  with  the  stream  : 
But  if  they  slack  their  hands,  or  cease  to  strive, 
Then  down  the  flood  with  headlong  haste  they  drive. 

Dryden. 

It  is  with  much  satisfaction  that  I  hear  this  great  city  inquir- 
ing day  by  day  after  these  my  papers,  and  receiving  my  morning 
lectures  with  a  becoming  serious  nessand  attention.  My  publisher 
tells  me,  that  there  are  already  three  thousand  of  them  distributed 
every  day  :  ^  so  that  if  I  allow  twenty  readers  to  every  paper, 
which  I  look  upon  as  a  modest  computation,  I  may  reckon  about 
threescore  thousand  disciples  in  London  and  Westminster,  who 
I  hope  will  take  care  to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  thought- 
less herd  of  their  ignorant  and  unattentive  brethren.  Since  I  have 
raised  to  myself  so  great  an  audience,  I  shall  spare  no  pains  to 
make  their  instruction  agreeable,  and  their  diversion  useful.  For 
which  reasons  T  shall  endeavour  to  enliven  morality  with  wit. 
and  to  temper  wit  with  morality,  that  my  readers  may,  if  pos- 
sible, both  ways  find  their  account  in  the  speculation  of  the  day. 
And  to  the  end  that  their  virtue  and  discretion  may  not  be  short, 
transient,  intermitting  starts  of  thought,  I  have  resolved  to  refresh 
their  memories  from  day  to  day,  till  I  have  recovered  them  out 
of  that  desperate  state  of  vice  and  folly  into  which  the  age  is  fallen. 
The  mind  that  lies  fallow  but  a  single  day,  sprouts  up  in  follies 
that  are  only  to  be  killed  by  a  constant  and  assiduous  culture. 

1  Cos  d*8eoars  out  paru  d'abord  un  a  uu,  sur  des  feiiilles  volautes,  en 
forme  de  gazettes;  et  il  s'en  est  debite  jusqua  vinirt  niille  par  jonr,  &q. 

Le  Spectatcar.  Pref. 

V.  Tatler  with  notes.  V.  C.  No.  271,  p.  452,  note  on  Dr.  Johnson's  cal 
culation. — C. 


42 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  10. 


It  was  said  of  Socrates,  that  he  brought  Philosophy  down  from 
Heaven,  to  inhabit  among  men ;  and  I  shall  be  ambitious  to  have 
it  said  of  me,  that  I  have  brought  philosophy  out  of  closets  and 
libraries,  schools  and  colleges,  to  dwell  in  clubs  and  assemblies, 
at  tea-tables  and  in  coffee-houses. 

I  would  therefore  in  a  very  particular  manner  recommend 
these  my  speculations  to  all  well-regulated  families  that  set  apart 
an  hour  in  every  morning  for  tea  and  bread  and  butter  ;  and 
would  earnestly  advise  them  for  their  good  to  order  this  paper 
to  be  punctually  served  up,  and  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  part  of 
the  tea  equipage. 

Sir  Francis  Bacon  observes,  that  a  well-written  book,  compar- 
ed with  its  rivals  and  antagonists,  is  like  Moses's  serpent,  that 
immediately  swallowed  up  and  devoured  those  of  the  Egyptians. 
I  shair  not  be  so  vain  as  to  think  that  where  the  Spectator 
appears,  the  other  public  prints  will  vanish  ;  but  shall  leave  it 
to  my  readers'  consideration,  whether,  is  it  not  much  better  to 
be  let  into  the  knowledge  of  one's  self,  than  to  hear  what  passes 
in  Muscovy  or  Poland ;  and  to  amuse  ourselves  with  such  writ- 
ings as  tend  to  the  wearing  out  of  ignorance,  passion,  and  preju- 
dice, than  such  as  naturally  conduce  to  inflame  hatreds,  and  make 
enmities  irreconcileable  ? 

In  the  next  place,  I  would  recommend  this  paper  to  the  daily 
perusal  of  those  gentlemen  whom  I  cannot  but  consider  as  my 
good  brothers  and  allies,  I  mean  the  fraternity  of  Spectators, 
who  live  in  the  world  without  having  any  thing  do  in  it ;  and 
either  by  the  affluence  of  their  fortunes,  or  laziness  of  their  dis- 
positions, have  no  other  business  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  but 
to  look  upon  them.  Under  this  class  of  men  are  comprehendec 
all  contemplative  tradesmen,  titular  physicians,  fellows  of  the 
Hoyal-society,  ^  Templars  that  are  not  given  to  be  contentious, 

1  V.  New  Tatler,  216,  221,  236,  and  notes  on  the  illiberal  treatment  ot 
the  R.  S.— C. 


Ko.  10.] 


SPECTATOR. 


43 


and  statesmen  that  are  out  of  business ;  in  short,  every  one  that 
considers  the  world  as  a  theatre,  and  desires  to  form  a  right 
judgment  of  those  who  are  the  actors  on  it. 

There  is  another  set  of  men  that  I  must  likewise  lay  a  claim 
to,  whom  I  have  lately  called  the  blanks  of  society,  as  being  alto- 
gether unfurnished  with  ideas,  till  the  business  and  conversation 
of  the  day  has  supplied  them.  I  have  often  considered  these 
poor  souls  with  an  eye  of  great  commiseration,  when  I  have  heard 
them  asking  the  first  man  they  have  met  with,  whether  there 
was  any  news  stirring  ?  and  by  that  means  gathering  together 
materials  for  thinking.  These  needy  persons  do  not  know  what 
to  talk  of,  till  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the  morning;  for  by  that 
time  they  are  pretty  good  judges  of  the  weather,  know  which  way 
the  wind  sits,  and  whether  the  Dutch  mail  be  come  in.  As  they 
lie  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  man  they  meet,  and  are  grave  or  im- 
pertinent all  the  day  long,  according  to  the  notions  which  they 
have  imbibed  in  the  morning,  I  would  earnestly  entreat  them  not 
to  stir  out  of  their  chambers  till  they  have  read  this  paper,  and 
do  promise  them  that  I  will  daily  instil  into  them  such  sound 
and  wholesome  sentiments,  as  shall  have  a  good  efi"ect  on  their 
conversation  for  the  ensuing  twelve  hours. 

But  there  are  none  to  whom  this  paper  will  be  more  useful, 
than  to  the  female  world.  I  have  often  thought  there  has  not 
been  sufficient  pains  taken  in  finding  out  proper  employments  and 
diversions  for  the  fair  ones. 

Their  amusements  seem  contrived  for  them,  rather  as  they 
are  women,  than  as  they  are  reasonable  creatures  ;  and  are  more 
adapted  to  the  sex  than  to  the  species.  The  toilet  is  their  great 
scene  of  business,  and  the  right  adjusting  of  their  hair  the  prin- 
cipal employment  of  their  lives.  The  sorting  of  a  suit  of  ribbons 
is  reckoned  a  very  good  morning's  work ;  and  if  they  make  an 
excursion  to  a  mercer's,  or  a  toyshop,  so  great  a  fatigue  makes 


44 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  10  . 


them  unfit  for  any  thing  else  all  the  day  after.  Their  more  se- 
rious  occupations  are  sewing  and  embroidery,  and  their  greatest 
drudgery,  the  preparation  of  jellies  and  sweet-meats.  This,  I 
say,  is  the  state  of  ordinary  women  ;  though  I  know  there  are 
multitudes  of  those  of  more  elevated  life  and  conversation,  that 
move  in  an  exalted  sphere  of  knowledge  and  virtue,  that  join 
all  the  beauties  of  the  mind  to  the  ornaments  of  dress,  and  in- 
spire a  kind  of  awe  and  respect,  as  w^ell  as  love,  into  their  male, 
beholders.  I  hope  to  increase  the  number  of  these  by  publish- 
ing this  daily  paper,  which  I  shall  always  endeavour  to  make  an 
innocent  if  not  an  improving  entertainment,  and  by  that  means 
least  divert  the  minds  of  my  female  readers  from  greater  tri- 
fles. At  the  same  time,  as  I  would  fain  give  some  finishing 
touches  to  those  which  are  already  the  most  beautiful  pieces  in 
human  nature,  I  shall  endeavour  to  point  out  all  those  imper- 
fections that  are  the  blemishes,  as  well  as  those  virtues  which  are 
the  embellishments  of  the  sex.  In  the  meanwhile  I  hope  these 
my  gentle  readers,  who  have  so  much  time  on  their  hands,  will 
not  grudge  throwing  away  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  a  day  on  this 
paper,  since  they  may  do  it  without  any  hindrance  to  business. 

I  know  several  of  my  friends  and  well-wishers  are  in  great 
pain  for  me,  lest  I  should  not  be  able  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  a 
paper  which  I  oblige  myself  to  furnish  every  day :  but  to  make 
them  easy  in  this  particular,  I  will  promise  them  faithfully  to  give 
it  over  as  soon  as  I  grow  dull.  This  I  know  will  be  matter  of 
great  raillery  to  the  small  wits ;  who  will  frequently  put  me  in 
mind  of  my  promise,  desire  me  to  keep  my  word,  assure  me  that 
it  is  high  time  to  give  over,  with  many  other  little  pleasantries  of 
the  like  nature,  which  men  of  a  little  smart  genius  cannot  forbear 
throwing  out  against  their  best  friends,  when  they  have  such  a 
handle  given  them  of  being  witty.  But  let  them  remember  that  I 
do  hereby  enter  my  caveat  against  this  piece  of  raillery. — C. 


No,  12.] 


SPECTATOR. 


45 


No.  12.    WEDNESDAY,  MARCH  14. 

 -Yeteres  avias  tibi  de  pulmone  revello. 

Pers.  Sat.  V.  92. 
I  root  th'  old  woman  from  thy  trembling  heart 

At  my  coming  to  London,  it  was  some  time  before  I  could 
settle  myself  in  a  house  to  my  liking.  I  was  forced  to  quit  my 
first  lodgings,  by  reason  of  an  officious  landlady,  that  would  be 
asking  me  every  morning  how  I  had  slept.  I  then  fell  into  an 
honest  family,  and  lived  very  happily  for  above  a  week ;  when 
my  landlord,  who  was  a  jolly  good-natured  man,  took  it  into  his 
head  that  I  wanted  company,  and  therefore  would  frequently 
come  into  my  chamber  to  keep  me  from  being  alone.  This  I  bore 
for  two  or  three  days  ;  but  telling  me  one  day  that  he  was  afraid 
I  was  melancholy,  I  thought  it  was  high  time  for  me  to  be  gone, 
and  accordingly  took  new  lodgings  that  very  night.  About  a  week 
after,  I  found  my  jolly  landlord,  who,  as  I  said  before,  was  an 
honest  hearty  man,  had  put  me  into  an  advertisement  of  the  Daily 
Courant,  in  the  following  words.  ^  Whereas  a  melancholy  man 
left  his  lodgings  on  Thursday  last  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  after- 
wards  seen  going  towards  Islington ;  if  any  one  can  give  notice 
of  him  to  R.  B.  Fishmonger  in  the  Strand,  he  shall  be  very  well 
rewarded  for  his  pains.'  As  I  am  the  best  man  in  the  world  to 
keep  my  own  counsel,  and  my  landlord  the  Fishmonger  not  know- 
ing my  name,*  this  accident  of  my  life  was  never  discovered  to 
this  very  day. 

I  am  now  settled  with  a  widow-woman,  who  has  a  great  many 
children,  and  complies  with  my  humour  in  every  thing.  I  do  not 
remember  that  we  have  exchanged  a  word  together  these  five 

*  The  construction  irregular.  It  should  be — "  and  as  my  landlord^  the 
Jislunouger,  did  not  know  ray  name :"  or  e'se  thus  : — Being  the  best,  <&c,  and 
my  landlord,  <kc.  tiot  knowing  my  name'^ — H. 


46 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  12, 


years ;  my  coffee  comes  into  my  chamber  every  morning  without 
asking  for  it ;  if  I  want  fire  I  point  to  my  chimney,  if  water  to  my 
bason  :  upon  which  my  landlady  nodds,  as  much  as  to  say  she 
takes  my  meaning,  and  immediately  obej^s  my  signals.  She  has 
likewise  modelled  her  family  so  well,  that  when  her  little  boy 
offers  to  pull  me  by  the  coat,  or  prattle  in  my  face,  his  elder  sis- 
ter immediately  calls  him  off,  and  bids  him  not  to  disturb  the 
Gentleman.  At  my  first  entering  into  the  family,  I  was  troubled 
with  the  civility  of  their  rising  up  to  me  every  time  I  came 
into  the  room  ;  but  my  landlady  observing  that  upon  these  oc- 
casions I  always  cried  pish,  and  went  out  again,  has  forbidden 
any  such  ceremony  to  be  used  in  the  house ;  so  that  at  present  I 
walk  into  the  kitchen  or  parlour  without  being  taken  notice  of,  or 
giving  any  interruption  to  the  business  or  discourse  of  the  family. 
The  maid  will  ask  her  mistress  (though  I  am  by)  whether  the 
Gentleman  is  ready  to  go  to  dinner,  as  the  mistress  (who  is  indeed 
an  excellent  housewife)  scolds  at  the  servants  as  heartily  before 
my  face  as  behind  my  back.  In  short,  I  move  up  and  down  the 
house  and  enter  into  all  companies,  with  the  same  liberty  as  a  cat 
or  any  other  domestic  animal,  and  am  as  little  suspected  of  telling 
any  thing  that  I  hear  or  see. 

I  remember  last  winter  there  were  several  young  girls  of  the 
neighbourhood  sitting  about  the  fire  with  my  landlady's  daugh- 
ters, and  telling  stories  of  spirits  and  apparitions.  Upon  my 
opening  the  door  the  young  women  broke  off  their  discourse,  but 
my  landlady's  daughter's  telling  them  that  it  was  no  body  but  the 
Gentleman  (for  that  is  the  name  that  I  go  by  in  the  neighbour- 
hood as  well  as  in  the  family),  they  went  on  without  minding  me. 
I  seated  myself  by  the  candle  that  stood  on  a  table  at  one  end  of 
the  room ;  and  pretending  to  read  a  book  that  I  took  out  of  my 
pocket,  heard  several  dreadful  stories  of  ghosts  as  pale  as  ashes, 
that  had  stood  at  the  feet  of  a  bed,  or  walked  over  a  church-yard 


No.  12.]  SPECTATOR.  47 

by  moon-liglit :  and  of  others  that  had  been  conjured  into  the 
Red-Sea,  for  disturbing  people's  rest,  and  drawing  their  curtains 
at  midnight ;  with  many  other  old  women's  fables  of  the  like  na- 
ture.   As  one  spirit  raised  another,  I  observed  that  at  the  end 
of  every  story  the  whole  company  closed  their  ranks,  and  crowded 
about  the  fire  :  I  took  notice  in  particular  of  a  little  boy,  w^ho 
was  so  attentive  to  every  story,  that  I  am  mistaken  if  he  ventures 
to  go  to  bed  by  himself  this  twelve-month.    Indeed  they  talked 
so  long,  that  the  imaginations  of  the  whole  assembly  were  mani- 
festly crazed,  and  I  am  sure  will  be  the  worse  for  it  as  long  as 
they  live.    I  heard  one  of  the  girls,  that  had  looked  upon  me 
over  her  shoulder,  asking  the  company  how  long  I  had  been  in  the 
room,  and  whether  I  did  not  look  paler  than  I  used  to  do.  This 
put  me  under  some  apprehensions  that  I  should  be  forced  to  ex- 
plain myself  if  I  did  not  retire  ;  for  which  reason  I  took  the  can- 
dle in  my  hand,  and  went  up  into  my  chamber,  not  without  won- 
dering at  this  unaccountable  weakness  in  reasonable  creatures, 
that  they  should  love  to  astonish  and  terrify  one  another.  Were 
I  a  father,  I  should  take  a  particular  care  to  preserve  my  chil- 
dren from  these  little  horrors  of  imagination,  which  they  are  apt 
to  contract  when  they  are  young,  and  are  not  able  to  shake  off 
when  they  are  in  years.    I  have  known  a  soldier  that  has  entered 
a  breach,  affrighted  at  his  own  shadow ;  and  look  pale  upon  a  lit- 
tle scratching  at  his  door,  who  the  day  before  had  marched  up 
against  a  battery  of  cannon.    There  are  instances  of  persons,  who 
have  been  terrified  even  to  distraction,  at  the  figure  of  a  tree,  or 
the  shaking  of  a  bull-rush.   The  truth  of  it  is,  I  look  upon  a  sound 
imagination  as  the  greatest  blessing  of  life,  next  to  a  clear  judg- 
ment and  a  good  conscience.  In  the  mean  time,  since  there  are  very 
few  whose  minds  are  not  more  or  less  subject  to  these  dreadful 
thoughts  and  apprehensions,  we  ought  to  arm  ourselves  against 
them  by  the  dictates  of  reason  and  religion,  ^  to  pull  the  old  wo. 


48 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  12. 


man  out  of  our  hearts^  (as  Persius  expresses  it  in  the  motto  of  my 
paper),  and  extinguish  those  impertinent  notions  which  we  imbibed 
at  a  time  that  we  were  not  able  to  judge  of  their  absurdity.  Or 
if  we  believe,  as  many  wise  and  good  men  have  done,  that  there 
are  such  phantoms  and  apparitions  as  those  I  have  been  speaking 
of,  let  us  endeavour  to  establish  ourselves  an  interest  in  Him  who 
holds  the  reins  of  the  whole  creation  in  his  hand,  and  moderates 
them  after  such  a  manner,  that  it  is  impossible  for  one  being  to 
break  loose  upon  another  without  his  knowledge  and  permission. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  apt  to  join  in  opinion  with  those  who 
believe  that  all  the  regions  of  nature  swarm  with  spirits  ;  and  that 
we  have  multitudes  of  spectators  on  all  our  actions,  when  we  think 
ourselves  most  alone  :  but  instead  of  terrifying  myself  with  such 
a  notion,  I  am  wonderfully  pleased  to  think  that  I  am  always 
engaged  with  such  an  innumerable  society,  in  searching  out  the 
wonders  of  the  creation,  and  joining  in  the  same  consort  of  praise 
and  adoration. 

Milton  has  finely  described  this  mixed  communion  of  men  and 
spirits  in  Paradise ;  and  had  doubtless  his  eye  upon  a  verse  in 
old  Hesiod,  which  is  almost  word  for  word  the  same  with  his  third 
line  in  the  following  passage. 

 Nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 

Thut  Heav'n  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise: 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  botli  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep  ; 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.    How  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket,  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  others  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator  ?    Oft  in  bands. 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heav'nly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds, 
In  full  harmonic  number  join'd,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  Heav'n. 

O. 


No. 


SPECTATOR. 


49 


No.  13.   TIIUKSDAY,  MAECII  15. 

Die  mihi,  si  fueris  tu  leo,  qiialis  eris? 

Mact.  xii.  93 
Were  you  a  lion,  how  would  you  behave  ? 

There  is  nothing  that  of  late  years  has  afforded  matter  of 
greater  amusement  to  the  town  than  Signior  Nicolini's '  combat 
with  a  lion  in  the  Hay-Market,  which  has  been  very  often  exhib- 
ited to  the  general  satisfaction  of  most  of  the  nobility  and  gentry 
in  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britain.  Upon  the  first  rumour  of  this 
intended  combat,  it  was  confidently  affirmed,  and  is  still  believ- 
ed by  many  in  both  galleries,  that  there  would  be  a  tame  lion 
sent  from  the  Tower  every  opera  night,  in  order  to  be  killed  by 
Hydaspes;  this  report,  though  altogether  groundless,  so  univer- 
sally prevailed  in  the  upper  regions  of  the  playhouse,  that  some  of 
the  most  refined  politicians  in  those  parts  of  the  audience  gave  it 
out  in  whisper,  that  the  lion  was  a  cousin-gcrman  of  the  tiger  who 
made  his  appearance  in  king  William's  days,  and  that  the  stage 
would  be  supplied  with  lions  at  the  public  expense,  during  the 

1  Nicolini  Grinialdi,  calleil  Sic/nor  Nicolini  di  Napoli,  came  into  England 
in  n08,  and  made  his  first  app^^arance  in  the  opera  of  Camilla.  He  was 
dignilied  with  the  title  of  Cavaliero  di  San  Marco,  not  more  for  his  sing- 
ing than  his  personal  merit.  Mr.  Galliard  affirms,  as  Steele,  or  whoever 
was  the  author  of  this  paper  does  here,  that  he  was  both  a  fine  actor,  and 
a  good  singer.  lie  is  commended  in  like  njanner  in  both  capacities,  Spec 
TATOR,  No.  405,  where  he  is  complimented  on  the  generous  appro))ation  he 
had  given  to  an  English  opera,  "  Calj'pso  and  Telemachus,"  written  by  Mr. 
John  Hughes,  and  set  by  Mr.  Galliard,  when  the  other  Italians  were  in  a 
confederacy  to  ruin  it.  IS^icolini  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  friendship  both 
of  Steele  and  Addison.  He  entertained  an  affection  for  them  and  their 
writings,  and  was  inclined  to  study  the  English  language  for  the  pleasure 
of  reading  the  Tatler. 

Kicolini  was  in  England  at  two  or  three  dilfei  ent  periods,  and  it  is  said 
b}'  some,  that  he  united  in  himself  all  the  excellencies  of  mjun^  other  fine 
Bingers,  who  flourished  about  the  beginning  of  this  century.  Sir  John  Haw- 
kin  s  Hist,  of  Music,  vol.  v.  b.  11,  p.  133,  tfec. — N.  in  notes  to  Tatler,  115. 
VOL.   Y. — 3 


so 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  18. 


whole  session.  Many  likewise  were  the  conjectures  of  the  treat- 
ment which  this  lion  was  to  meet  with  from  the  hands  of  Si^rnior 
Nicolini :  some  supposed  that  he  was  to  subdue  him  in  recitative, 
as  Orpheus  used  to  serve  the  wild  beasts  in  his  time,  and  after- 
wards to  knock  him  on  the  head  ;  some  fancied  that  the  lion  would 
not  pretend  to  lay  his  paws  upon  the  hero,  by  reason  of  the 
*eceived  opinion,  that  a  lion  will  not  hurt  a  virgin  :  several,  who 
pretended  to  have  seen  the  opera  in  Italy,  had  informed  their 
friends,  that  the  lion  was  to  act  a  part  in  High-Dutch,  and  roar 
twice  or  thrice  to  a  thorough  bass,  before  he  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Hydaspes.  To  clear  up  a  matter  that  was  so  variously  reported, 
I  have  made  it  my  business  to  examine  whether  this  pretended 
lion  is  really  the  savage  he  appears  to  be,  or  only  a  counterfeit. 

But  before  I  communicate  my  discoveries,  I  must  acqviaint 
the  reader,  that  upon  my  walking  behind  the  scenes  last  winter, 
as  I  was  thinking  on  something  else,  I  accidentally  justled  against 
a  monstrous  animal  that  extremely  startled  me,  and  upon  my 
nearer  survey  of  it,  appeared  to  be  a  lion  rampant.  The  lion 
seeing  me  very  much  surprised,  told  me,  in  a  gentle  voice,  that  I 
might  come  by  him  if  I  pleased  :  '  For  '  says  he,  '  I  do  not  intend 
to  hurt  any  body.'  I  thanked  him  very  kindly,  and  passed  by 
him.  And  in  a  little  time  after  saw  him  leap  upon  the  stage,  and 
act  his  part  with  very  great  applause.  It  has  been  observed  by 
several,  that  the  lion  has  changed  his  manner  of  acting  twice  or 
thrice  since  his  first  appearance ;  which  will  not  seem  strange, 
when  I  acquaint  my  reader  that  the  lion  has  been  changed  upon 
the  audience  three  several  times.  The  first  lion  was  a  candle- 
snufier,  who  being  a  fellow  of  a  testy  choleric  temper  over-did  his 
part,  and  would  not  sufi'er  himself  to  be  k'lled  so  easily  as  he 
ought  to  have  done  ;  besides,  it  was  observed  of  him,  that  he  grew 
more  surly  every  time  he  came  out  of  the  lion,  and  having  dropt 
some  words  iu  ordinary  conversation,  as  if  he  had  not  fouglit  his 


No.  13.] 


SPECTATOR. 


51 


best,  and  that  he  suffered  himself  to  be  thrown  upon  his  back  in 
the  scuffle,  and  that  he  would  wrestle  with  Mr.  Nicolini  for  what 
he  pleased,  out  of  his  lion's  skin,  it  was  thought  proper  to  discard 
him  :  and  it  is  verilj  believed,  to  this  day,  that  had  he  been 
brought  upon  the  stage  another  time,  he  would  certainly  have 
done  mischief.  Besides,  it  was  objected  against  the  first  lion, 
that  he  reared  himself  so  high  upon  his  hinder  paws,  and  walked 
in  so  erect  a  posture,  that  he  looked  more  like  an  old  man  than 
a  lion. 

The  second  lion  was  a  tailor  by  trade,  who  belonged  to  the 
playhouse,  and  had  the  character  of  a  mild  and  peaceable  man  in 
his  profession.  If  the  former  was  too  furious,  this  was  too  sheep- 
ish for  his  part ;  insomuch,  that  after  a  short  modest  walk  upon 
the  stage,  he  would  fall  at  the  first  tough  of  Hydaspes,  without 
grappling  with  him,  and  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  shewing 
his  variety  of  Italian  trips.  It  is  said,  indeed,  that  he  once  gave 
him  a  rip  in  his  flesh-coloured  doublet ;  but  this  was  only  to  make 
work  for  himself,  in  his  private  character  of  a  tailor.  I  must  not 
omit  that  it  was  this  second  lion  who  treated  me  with  so  much 
humanity  behind  the  scenes. 

The  acting  lion  at  present  is,  as  I  am  informed,  a  country 
gentleman,  who  does  it  for  his  diversion,  but  desires  his  name 
may  be  concealed.  He  says,  very  handsomely,  in  his  own  excuse, 
that  he  does  not  act  for  gain ;  that  he  indulges  an  innocent  plea- 
sure in  it ;  and  that  it  is  better  to  pass  away  an  evening  in  this 
manner,  than  in  gaming  and  drinking  :  but  at  the  same  time 
says,  with  a  very  agreeable  raillery  upon  himself,  that  if  his 
name  should  be  known,  the  ill-natured  world  might  call  him, 
'  the  ass  in  the  lion's  skin.'  This  gentleman's  temper  is  made 
out  of  such  a  happy  mixture  of  the  mild  and  the  choleric,  that  he 
outdoes  both  his  predecessors,  and  has  drawn  together  greater 
audiences  than  have  been  known  in  the  memory  of  man. 


52 


SPECTATOR. 


I  must  not  conclude  my  narrative,  without  taking  notice  of  a 
groundless  report  that  has  been  raised  to  a  gentleman's  disad- 
vantage, of  whom  I  must  declare  myself  an  admirer;  namely,  that 
Siguier  Nicolini  and  the  lion  have  been  seen  sitting  peaceably  by 
one  another,  and  smoaking  a  pipe  together  behind  the  scenes ;  by 
which  their  common  enemies  would  insinuate,  that  it  is  but  a 
sham  combat  which  they  represent  upon  the  stage  :  but  upon  in- 
quiry I  find,  that  if  any  such  correspondence  has  passed  between 
them,  it  was  not  till  the  combat  was  over,  when  the  lion  was  to 
be  looked  upon  as  dead,  according  to  the  received  rules  of  the 
drama.  Besides,  this  is  what  is  practised  every  day  in  West- 
minster Hall,  where  nothing  is  more  usual  than  to  see  a  couple 
of  lawyers,  who  have  been  tearing  each  other  to  pieces  in  the 
court,  embracing  one  another  as  soon  as  they  are  out  of  it. 

I  would  not  be  thought,  in  any  part  of  this  relation,  to  reflect 
upon  Siguier  Nicolini,  who  in  acting  this  part  only  complies  with 
the  wretched  taste  of  his  audience ;  he  knows  very  well,  that  the 
lion  has  many  more  admirers  than  himself ;  as  they  say  of  the 
famous  equestrian  statue  on  the  Pont-Neuf  at  Paris,^  that  more 
people  go  to  see  the  horse  than  the  king  who  sits  upon  it.  On 
the  contrary,  it  gives  me  a  just  indignation  to  see  a  person  whose 
action  gives  new  majesty  to  kings,  resolution  to  heroes,  and  soft- 
ness to  lovers,  thus  sinking  from  the  greatness  of  his  behaviour, 
and  degraded  into  the  character  of  the  London  Prentice.  I  have 
often  wished,  that  our  tragedians  would  copy  after  this  great 
master  in  action.  Could  they  make  the  same  use  of  their  arms 
and  legs,  and  inform  their  faces  with  as  significant  looks  and  pas- 
sions, how  glorious  would  an  English  tragedy  appear  with  that 
action  which  is  capable  of  giving  a  dignity  to  the  forced  thoughts, 
cold  conceits,  and  unnatural  expressions  of  an  Italian  opera  !  In 
the  mean  time,  I  have  related  this  combat  of  the  lion,  to  shew 
^  The  Statue  of  Henry  IV. 


N"o.  1 5.  ] 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  O  T?  , 


53 


what  are  at  present  the  reigning  entertainments  of  the  politer  part 
of  Great  Britain. 

Audiences  have  often  been  reproached  by  writers  for  the 
coarseness  of  their  taste  ;  but  our  present  grievance  does  not  seem 
to  be  the  want  of  a  good  taste,  but  of  common  sense.^  C. 


No.  15.    SATURDAY,  MARCH  17. 

Parvaleves  cap' ant  animos  — 

Ovid.  M©t.  iv.  590. 

Light  minds  are  pleased  with  trifles. 

When  I  was  in  France,  I  used  to  gaze  with  great  astonishment 
at  the  splendid  equipages,  and  party-coloured  habits,  of  that  fan- 
tastic nation.  I  was  one  day  in  particular  contemplating  a  lady 
that  sate  in  a  coach  adorned  with  gilded  Cupids,  and  finely  paint- 
ed with  the  loves  of  Venus  and  Adonis.  The  coach  was  drawn 
by  six  milk-white  horses,  and  loaden  behind  with  the  same  num- 
ber of  powdered  footmen.  Just  before  the  lady  were  a  couple 
of  beaiitiful  pages,  that  were  stuck  among  the  harness,  and,  by 
their  gay  dresses,  and  smiling  features,  looked  like  the  elder 
brothers  of  the  little  boys  that  were  carved  and  painted  in  every 
corner  of  the  coach. 

The  lady  was  the  unfortunate  Cleanthe,  who  afterwards  gave 

1  Addison  from  the  bad  success  of  Rosamond  was  led  to  think  that  only 
nonsense  was  fit  to  be  set  to  music;  and  this  error  was  further  to  be  ac- 
counted for  by  that  want  of  taste,  not  to  say  of  skill  in  music,  which  he 
manifests  in  preferring  the  Frencir  to  the  Italian  composers,  and  in  his 
general  sentiments  of  music  and  composers,  in  which  he  is  ever  wrong. 
Hawkins'  History  of  Music,  4to.  vol.  v.  b.  11,  ch.  v.  j^p.  147,148 — note. — C. 

It  is  now  well  known  that  very  little  reliance  is  to  be  placed  ou  the 
criticisms  of  Sir  John  Hawkins. — G. 


54 


SPECTATOPc 


[No.  15. 


an  occasion  to  a  pretty  raelanclioly  novel.  She  had,  for  several 
years,  received  the  addresses  of  a  gentleman,  whom,  after  a  long 
and  intimate  acquaintaiice,  she  forsook,  upon  the  account  of  this 
shining  equipage,  which  had  been  offered  to  her  by  one  of  great 

\  riches,  but  a  crazy  constitution.  The  circumstances  in  which  I 
saw  her  were,  it  seems,  the  disguises  only  of  a  broken  heart,  and 
a  kind  of  pageantry  to  cover  distress  ;  for  in  two  months  after 
she  was  carried  to  her  grave  with  the  same  pomp  and  magnifi- 
cence ;  being  sent  thither  partly  by  the  loss  of  one  lover,  and 
partly  by  the  possession  of  another. 

I  have  often  reflected  with  myself  on  this  unaccountable  hu- 
mour in  womankind,  of  being  smitten  with  every  thing  that  is 
showy  and  superficial ;  and  on  the  numberless  evils  that  befal  the 
sex,  from  this  light  fantastical  disposition.  I  myself  remember 
a  young  lady,  that  was  very  warmly  solicited  by  a  couple  of  im- 
portunate rivals,  who,  for  several  months  together,  did  all  they 
could  to  recommend  themselves,  by  complacency  of  behaviour, 
and  agreeableness  of  conversation.  At  length,  when  the  compe- 
tition was  doubtful,  and  the  lady  undetermined  in  Jier  choice,  one 

•  of  the  young  lovers  very  luckily  bethought  himself  of  adding  a 
supernumerary  lace  to  his  liveries,  which  had  so  good  an  effect, 
that  he  married  her  the  very  week  after. 

The  usual  conversation  of  ordinary  w^omen  very  much  cher- 
ishes this  natural  weakness  of  being  taken  w^ith  outside  and  ap- 
pearance. Talk  of  a  new-married  couple,  and  you  immediately 
hear  whether  they  keep  their  coach  and  six,  or  eat  in  plate. 
Mention  the  name  of  an  absent  lady,  and  it  is  ten  to  one  but  you 
learn  something  of  her  gown  and  petticoat.  A  ball  is  a  great 
help  to  discourse,  and  a  birth-day  furnishes  conversation  for  a 
twelvemonth  after.  A  furbelow  of  precious  stones,  an  hat  but- 
toned with  a  diamond,  a  brocade  waistcoat  or  petticoat,  are  stand- 
ing topics.    In  short,  they  consider  only  the  drapery  of  the  spe. 


No.  15.] 


SPECTATOR. 


55 


eies,  and  never  cast  away  thought  on  those  ornaments  of  the  mind, 
that  make  persons  illustrious  in  themselves,  and  useful  to  others. 
When  women  are  thus  perpetually  dazzling  one  another's  imagi- 
nations, and  filling  their  heads  with  nothing  but  colours,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  they  are  more  attentive  to  the  superficial  parts  of 
life,  than  the  solid  and  substantial  blessings  of  it  A  girl,  who 
has  been  trained  up  in  this  kind  of  conversation,  is  in  danger  of 
every  embroidered  coat  that  comes  in  her  way.  A  pair  of  frin- 
ged gloves  may  be  her  ruin.  In  a  word,  lace  and  ribbons,  silver 
and  gold  galloons,  with  the  like  glittering  gewgaws,  are  so  many 
lures  to  women  of  weak  minds  or  low  educations,  and,  when  arti- 
ficially displayed,  are  able  to  fetch  down  the  most  airy  coquette 
from  the  wildest  of  her  flights  and  rambles. 

True  hapiness  is  of  a  retired  nature,  and  an  enemy  to  pomp 
and  noise  :  it  arises,  in  the  first  place,  from  the  enjoyment  of  one's 
self ;  and  in  the  next,  from  the  friendship  and  conversation  of  a 
few  select  companions.  It  loves  shade  and  solitude,  and  naturally 
haunts  groves  and  fountains,  fields  and  meadows  :  in  short,  it 
feels  every  thing  it  wants  within  itself,  and  receives  no  addition 
from  multitudes  of  witnesses  and  spectators.  On  the  contrary, 
false  happiness  loves  to  be  in  a  crowd,  and  to  draw  the  eyes  of 
the  world  upon  her.  She  does  not  receive  any  satisfaction  from 
the  applauses  which  she  gives  herself,  but  from  the  admiration 
which  she  raises  in  others.  She  flourishes  in  courts  and  palaces, 
theatres  and  assemblies,  and  has  no  existence  but  when  she  is 
looked  upon. 

Aurelia,  though  a  woman  of  great  quality,  delights  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  a  country  life,  and  passes  away  a  great  part  of  her  time 
in  her  own  walks  and  gardens.  Her  husband,  who  is  her  bosom 
friend,  and  companion  in  her  solitudes,  has  been  in  love  with  her 
ever  since  he  knew  her.  They  both  abound  with  good  sense,  con- 
summate virtue,  and  a  mutual  esteem  ;  and  are  a  perpetual  en- 


56 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  15. 


tertainment  to  one  another.  Their  family  is  under  so  regular  an 
economy,  in  its  hours  of  devotion  and  repast,  employment  and 
diversion,  that  it  looks  like  a  little  commonwealth  within  itself. 
They  often  go  into  company,  that  they  may  return  witli  the  greater 
delight  to  one  another  ;  and  sometimes  live  in  town,  not  to  enjoy 
it  so  properly,  as  to  grow  weary  of  it,  that  they  may  renew 
in  themselves  the  relish  of  a  country  life.  By  this  means  they 
are  happy  in  each  othor,  beloved  by  their  children,  adored  by 
their  servants,  and  are  become  the  envy,  or  rather  the  delight, 
of  all  that  know  them. 

How  different  to  this  is  the  life  of  Fulvia  !  She  considers 
her  husband  as  her  steward,  and  looks  upon  discretion  and  good 
housewifery  as  little  domestic  virtues,  unbecoming  a  woman  of 
quality.  She  thinks  life  lost  in  her  own  family,  and  fancies  her- 
self out  of  the  world,  when  she  is  not  in  the  ring,  the  playhouse, 
or  the  drawing-room.  She  lives  in  a  perpetual  motion  of  body 
and  restlessness  of  thought,  and  is  never  easy  in  any  one  place, 
when  she  thinks  there  is  more  company  in  another.  The  missing 
of  an  opera  the  first  night,  would  be  more  afflicting  to  her  tlian  the 
death  of  a  child.  She  pities  all  the  valuable  part  of  her  own  sex  ; 
and  calls  every  woman  of  a  prudent,  modest,  retired  life,  a  poor- 
spirited,  unpolished  creature.  What  a  mortification  would  it  be 
to  Fulvia,  if  she  knew  that  her  setting  herself  to  view,  is  but  ex- 
posing herself,  and  that  she  grows  contemptible  by  being  conspi- 
cuous I 

I  cannot  conclude  my  paper,  without  observing,  that  Yirgil 
has  very  finely  touched  upon  this  female  passion  for  dress  and 
show,  in  the  character  of  Camilla ;  who,  thougli  she  seems  to 
have  shaken  off  all  the  other  weaknesses  of  her  sex,  is  still  de- 
scribed as  a  woman  in  this  particular.  The  poet  tells  us,  that, 
after  having  made  a  great  slaughter  of  the  enemy,  she  unfortu- 
nately cast  her  eye  on  a  Trojan,  who  wore  an  embroidered  tunic. 


No.  16.] 


SPECIATOR. 


57 


a  beautiful  coat  of  mail,  with  a  mantle  of  the  finest  purple.  ^  A 
golden  bow,'  says  he,  ^  hung  upon  his  shoulder  ;  his  garment  was 
buckled  with  a  golden  clasp;  and  his  head  covered  with  an  hel- 
met of  the  same  shining  metal.'  The  Amazon  immediately  sin- 
gled out  this  well-dressed  warrior,  being  seized  with  a  woman's 
longing  for  the  pretty  trappings  that  he  was  adorned  with. 

 Totnnaque  incaiita  per  agmen 

Foeminse  prsedie  et  spoUorum  aidebat  amore. 

This  heedless  pursuit  after  these  glittering  trifles,  the  poet 
(by  a  nice  concealed  moral)  represents  to  have  been  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  female  hero.  C. 


No.  16.    MONDAY,  MARCH  19. 

Quid  verum  atqiio  decens  euro,  et  rogo,  et  omnis  in  hoc  sura. 

HoR,  I,  Ep.  i.  11. 

What  right,  what  true,  what  fit  we  justly  call, 
Let  this  be  all  my  care— for  this  is  all. 

Pope. 

I  HAVE  received  a  letter,  desiring  me  to  be  very  satirical  upon 
the  little  muff  that  is  now  in  fashion  ;  another  informs  me  of  a  pair 
of  silver  garters  buckled  below  the  knee,  that  have  been  lately 
seen  at  the  Rainbow  Coffee-house,  in  Fleet-Street ;  a  third  sends 
me  an  heavy  complaint  against  fringed  gloves.  To  be  brief, 
there  is  scarce  an  ornament  of  either  sex,  which  one  or  other  of 
my  correspondents  has  not  inveighed  against  with  some  bitter- 
ness, and  recommended  to  my  observation.  I  must  therefore, 
once  for  all,  inform  my  readers,  that  it  is  not  my  intention  to  sink 
the  dignity  of  this  my  paper  with  reflections  upon  red-heels  or 
top-knots,  but  rather  to  enter  into  the  passions  of  mankind,  and 
to  correct  those  depraved  sentiments  that  gave  birth  to  all  those 
vol..    v.- -3* 


58 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  16 


little  extravagancies  which  appear  in  their  outward  dress  and  be 
haviour.  Foppish  and  fantastic  ornaments  are  only  indications 
of  vice,  not  criminal  in  themselves.  Extinguish  vanity  in  the 
mind,  and  you  naturally  retrench  the  little  superfluities  of  gar- 
niture and  equipage.  The  blossoms  will  fall  of  themselves,  when 
the  root  that  nourishes  them  is  destroyed. 

I  shall  therefore,  as  I  have  said,  apply  my  remedies  to  the 
first  seeds  and  principles  of  an  affected  dress,  without  descending 
to  the  dress  itself;  though  at  the  same  time  I  must  own,  that  I 
have  thoughts  of  creating  an  officer  under  me,  to  be  entitled, '  The 
Censor  of  small  Wares,'  and  of  allotting  him  one  day  in  a  week 
for  the  execution  of  such  his  office.  An  operator  of  this  nature 
might  act  under  me,  with  the  same  regard  as  a  surgeon  to  a  phy- 
sician ;  the  one  might  be  employed  in  healing  those  blotches  and 
tumours  wdiich  break  out  in  the  body,  while  the  other  is  sweeten- 
ing the  blood,  and  rectifying  the  constitution.  To  speak  truly, 
the  young  people  of  both  sexes  are  so  wonderfully  apt  to  shoot 
out  into  long  swords  or  sweeping  trains,  bushy  head-dresses  or 
full-bottomed  perriwigs,  with  several  other  incumbrances  of  dress, 
that  they  stand  in  need  of  being  pruned  very  frequently;  lest  they 
should  be  oppressed  with  ornaments,  and  over-run  with  the  luxu- 
riance of  their  habits.  I  am  much  in  doubt,  whether  I  should 
give  the  preference  to  a  Quaker,  that  is  trimmed  close,  and  almost 
cut  to  the  quick,  or  to  a  beau,  that  is  loaden  with  such  a  redun- 
dance of  excrescences.  I  must,  therefore,  desire  my  correspond- 
ents to  let  me  know  how  they  approve  my  project,  and  whether 
they  think  the  erecting  of  such  a  petty  censorship  may  not  turn 
to  the  emolument  of  the  public ;  for  I  would  not  do  any  thing  of 
this  nature  rashly,  and  without  advice. 

Tfeere  is  another  set  of  correspondents  to  whom  I  must  ad- 
dress myself  in  the  second  place  ;  I  mean,  such  as  fill  their  let- 
ters with  private  scandal,  and  black  accounts  of  particular  persons- 


No.  16.] 


S  P  E  C  T  A  TO  R  . 


59 


and  families.  The  world  is  so  full  of  ill-nature,  that  I  have  lam- 
poons sent  me  by  people  who  cannot  spell,  and  satires  composed 
by  those  who  scarce  know  how  to  write.  By  the  last  post  in  par- 
ticular, I  received  a  packet  of  scandal  which  is  not  legible ;  and 
have  a  whole  bundle  of  letters  in  women's  hands  that  are  full  of 
blots  and  calumnies,  insomuch,  that  when  I  see  the  name  Cselia, 
Phillis,  Pastora,  or  the  like,  at  the  bottom  of  a  scrawl,  I  conclude 
on  course  that  it  brings  me  some  account  of  a  fallen  virgin,  a 
faithless  wife,  or  an  amorous  widow.  I  must  therefore  inform 
these  my  correspondents,  that  it  is  not  my  design  to  be  a  publish- 
er of  intrigues  and  cuckoldoms,  or  to  bring  little  infamous  stories 
out  of  their  present  lurking  holes  into  broad  day-light.  If  I  at- 
tack the  vicious,  I  shall  only  set  upon  them  in  a  body ;  and  will 
not  be  provoked  by  the  worst  usage  I  can  receive  from  others,  to 
make  an  example  of  any  particular  criminal.  In  short,  I  have  so 
much  of  a  Drawcansir^  in  me,  that  I  shall  pass  over  a  single  foe 
to  charge  whole  armies.  It  is  not  Lais  or  Silenus,  but  the  harlot 
and  the  drunkard,  whom  I  shall  endeavour  to  expose  ;  and  shall 
consider  the  crime  as  it  appears  in  a  species,  not  as  it  is  circum-^ 
stanced  in  an  individual.  I  think  it  was  Caligula,  who  wished 
the  whole  city  of  Home  had  but  one  neck,  that  he  might  behead 
them  at  a  blow.  I  shall  do  out  of  humanity,  what  that  emperor 
would  have  done  in  the  cruelty  of  his  temper,  and  aim  every 
stroke  at  a  collective  body  of  offenders.  At  the  same  time  I  am 
very  sensible,  that  nothing  spreads  a  paper  like  private  calumny 
and  defamation ;  but  as  my  speculations  are  not  under  this  neces- 
sity, they  are  not  exposed  to  this  temptation. 

'  A  character  in  the  Rehearsal,  introduced  as  a  parody  of  Dryden's 
favorite  hero  Almanzor.  The  Rehearsal,  it  will  be  remembered,  though  geii- 
erall}"  attributed  exclusively  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  was  written  by 
Builer,  author  of  Hudibras,  Spratt,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Rochester,  and 
Martin  Clifford,  in  conjunction  with  the  Duke.  It  was  aimed  at  tho  ti  agic 
[)<  ets  of  the  day,  who  are  supposed  to  be  collectively  represented  in  the 
eharaefer  of  Bayes. — (t. 


60 


SPECTATOR. 


po.  16 


In  the  next  place  I  must  apply  myself  to  my  party  corre- 
spondents, who  are  continually  teazing  me  to  take  notice  of  one 
another's  proceedings.  How  often  am  I  asked  by  both  sides,  if  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  be  an  unconcerned  spectator  of  the  rogueries 
that  are  committed  by  the  party  which  is  opposite  to  him  that 
writes  the  letter.  About  two  days  since  I  was  reproached  with 
an  old  Grecian  law  that  forbids  any  man  to  stand  as  a  neuter  or 
a  looker-on  in  the  divisions  of  his  country.  However,  as  I  am 
very  sensible  my  paper  would  lose  its  whole  effect,  should  it  run 
into  the  outrages  of  a  party,  I  shall  take  care  to  keep  clear  of 
every  thing  which  looks  that  way.  If  I  can  any  way  assuage  pri- 
vate inflammations,  or  allay  public  ferments,  I  shall  apply  my- 
self to  it  with  my  utmost  endeavours  ;  but  will  never  let  my  heart 
reproach  me,  with  having  done  any  thing  towards  increasing  those 
feuds  and  animosities  that  extinguish  religion,  deface  government, 
and  make  a  nation  miserable. 

What  I  have  said  under  the  three  foregoing  heads,  will,  I  am 
afraid,  very  much  retrench  the  number  of  my  correspondents  :  I 
shall  therefore  acquaint  my  reader,  that  if  he  has  started  any 
hint  which  he  is  not  able  to  pursue,  if  he  has  met  with  any  sur- 
prising story  which  he  does  not  know  how  to  tell,  if  he  has  dis- 
covered any  epidemical  vice  which  has  escaped  my  observation, 
or  has  heard  of  any  uncommon  virtue  which  he  would  desire  t-o 
publish  :  in  short,  if  he  has  any  materials  that  can  furnish  out  an 
innocent  diversion,  I  shall  p^-omise  him  my  best  assistance  in  the 
working  of  them  up  for  a  public  entertainment. 

This  paper  my  reader  will  find  was  intended  for  an  answer  to 
a  multitude  of  correspondents ;  but  I  hope  he  will  pardon  me  if  I 
single  o'lt  one  of  them  in  particular,  who  has  made  me  so  very 
humble  a  request,  that  I  cannot  forbear  complying  with  it. 


N"o.  18.] 


SPECTATOR. 


61 


.  'TO  THE  SrECTATOR. 

'March  15ih,  1710-11. 

'  Sir, 

*  I  AM  at  present  so  unfortunate,  as  to  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  mind  my  own  business;  and  therefore  beg  of  jou  that  you  will 
be  pleased  to  put  me  into  some  small  post  under  you.  I  observe 
that  you  have  appointed  your  printer  and  publisher  to  receive 
letters  and  advertisements  for  the  city  of  London  ;  and  shall  think 
myself  very  much  honoured  by  you,  if  you  will  appoint  me  to  take 
in  letters  and  advertisements  for  the  city  of  Westminster  and  the 
duchy  of  Lancaster.  Thouoh  I  cannot  promise  to  fill  such  an 
employment  with  sufiicient  abilities,  I  will  endeavour  to  make  up 
with  indus^.ry  and  fidelity  what  I  want  in  parts  and  genius.    I  am, 

'  Sir, 

*  Your  most  obedient  servant, 

^  Charles  Lillie.'  ^  C. 


No.  18.    WEDNESDAY,  MARCH  21. 

 Equitis  quoque  jam  migravit  ab  aure  voluptas 

Omnis  ad  incertqs  oculos  et  gaudia  van  a. 

HoR.  1  Ep.  11. 187. 
But  now  our  nobles  too  are  fops  and  vain, 
Neglect  the  sense,  but  love  the  painted  scene. 

Okeech. 

It  is  my  design  in  this  paper  to  deliver  down  to  posterity  a 
faithful  account  of  the  Italian  Opera,  and  of  the  gradual  progress 
which  it  has  made  upon  the  English  stage  :  for  there  is  no  ques- 
tion but  our  great  grand-children  will  be  very  curious  to  know  the 

1  A  perfumer  who  figures  in  the  Tatler. — V.  Tatler,  92,  94,  101,  103, 

260.— a 


62 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  18 


reason  why  their  fore-fathers  used  to  sit  together  like  an  audience 
of  foreigners  in  their  own  country,  and  to  hear  whole  plays  acted 
before  them  in  a  tongue  which  they  did  not  understand. 

Arsinoe  was  the  first  opera  that  gave  us  a  taste  of  Italian 
music.^  The  great  success  this  opera  met  with,  produced  sonic 
attempts  of  forming  pieces  upon  Italian  plans,  which  should  give 
a  more  natural  and  reasonable  entertainment  than  what  can  be 
met  with  in  the  elaborate  trifles  of  that  nation.  This  alarmed 
the  poetasters  and  fiddlers  of  the  town,  who  were  used  to  deal  in 
a  more  ordinary  kind  of  ware  ;  and  therefore  laid  down  an  estab- 
lished rule,  which  is  received  as  such  to  this  day,  '  That  nothing 
is  capable  of  being  well  set  to  music,  that  is  not  nonsense.' 

This  maxim  was  no  sooner  received,  but  we  immediately  fell 
to  translating  the  Italian  operas ;  and  as  there  was  no  danger  of 
hurting  the  sense  of  those  extraordinary  pieces,  our  authors 
would  often  make  words  of  their  own,  which  were  entirely  for- 
eign to  the  meaning  of  the  passages  they  pretended  to  translate ; 
their  chief  care  being  to  make  the  numbers  of  the  English  verse 
answer  to  those  of  the  Italian,  that  both  of  them  might  go  to  the 
same  tune.    Thus  the  famous  song  in  Camilla, 

Barbara  si  t'intendo. 

*  Barbarous  woman,  yes,  I  know  your  meaning,* 

which  expresses  the  resentments  of  an  angry  lover,  was  trans- 
lated into  that  English  lamentation, 

*  Frail  are  a  lover's  hopes,'  &c. 

And  it  was  pleasant  enough  to  see  the  most  refined  persons  of 
the  British  nation  dying  away  and  languishing  to  notes  that 

^  Arsinoe,  Queen  of  Cyprus,  an  opera  aft(r  the  Italian  maoiner,  by  Tho- 
mas Claytou.  It  was  firs'  perf\)rined  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drury-Lanej 
in  not.—* 


No.  18.] 


SPECTATOR. 


G3 


were  filled  with  a  spirit  of  rage  and  indignation.  It  happened 
also  very  frequently,  where  the  sense  was  rightly  translated,  the 
necessary  transposition  of  words  which  were  drawn  out  of  the 
phrase  of  one  tongue  into  that  of  another,  made  the  music  appear 
very  absurd  in  one  tongue  that  was  very  natural  in  the  other.  I 
remember  an  Italian  verse  that  ran  thus,  word  for  word, 

*  And  turn'd  my  rage  into  pity ; ' 

which  the  English  for  rhyme  sake  translated, 

'And  into  pity  turn'd  ray  rage.* 

By  this  means  the  soft  notes  that  were  adapted  to  irlty  in  the 
Italian,  fell  upon  the  word  rage  in  the  English ;  and  the  angry 
sounds  that  were  turned  to  rage  in  the  original,  were  made  to 
express  'piUj  in  the  translation.  It  oftentimes  happened  likewise, 
that  the  finest  notes  in  the  air  fell  upon  the  most  insignificant 
words  in  the  sentence.  I  have  known  the  word  and  pursued 
through  the  whole  gamut,  have  been  entertained  with  many  a 
melodious  the^  and  have  heard  the  most  beautiful  graces,  quavers, 
and  divisions  bestowed  upon  then^  for^  and  from^  to  the  eternal 
honour  of  our  English  particles. 

The  next  step  to  our  refinement,  was  the  introduction  of  the 
Italian  actors  into  our  opera,  who  sung  their  parts  in  their  own 
language,  at  the  same  time  that  our  countrymen  performed  theirs 
in  our  native  tongue.  The  king  or  hero  of  the  play  generally 
spoke  in  Italian,  and  his  slaves  answered  him  in  English :  the 
lover  frequently  made  his  court,  and  gained  the  heart  of  his 
princess,  in  a  language  which  she  did  not  understand.  One 
would  have  thought  it  very  difficult  to  have  carried  on  dialogues 
after  this  manner,  without  an  interpreter  between  the  persons 
that  conversed  together  ;  but  this  was  the  state  of  the  English 
stage  for  about  three  years. 


64 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  18. 


At  length  the  audience  grew  tired  of  understanding  half  the 
opera  ;  and  therefore  to  ease  themselves  entirely  of  the  fatigue 
of  thinking  have  so  ordered  it  at  present,  that  the  whole  opera 
is  performed  in  an  unknown  tongue.  We  no  longer  under- 
stand the  language  of  our  own  stage;  insomuch,  that  I  have  often 
been  afraid,  when  I  have  seen  our  Italian  performers  chattering 
in  the  vehemence  of  action,  that  they  have  been  calling  us 
names,  and  abusing  us  among  themselves ;  but  I  hope,  since  we 
put  such  an  entire  confidence  in  them,  they  will  not  talk  against 
us  before  our  faces,  though  they  may  do  it  with  the  same  safety 
as  if  it  were  behind  our  backs.  In  the  mean  time,  I  cannot  for- 
bear thinking  how  naturally  an  historian  who  writes  two  or 
three  hundred  years  hence,  and  does  not  know  the  taste  of  his 
wise  fore-fathers,  will  make  the  following  reflection :  '  In  the  be- 
ginning of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  Italian  tongue  was  so  well 
understood  in  England,  that  operas  were  acted  on  the  public 
stage  in  that  language.' 

One  scarce  knows  how  to  be  serious  in  the  confutation  of  an 
absurdity  that  shews  itself  at  the  first  sight.  It  does  not  want 
any  great  measure  of  sense  to  see  the  ridicule  of  this  monstrous 
practice ;  but  what  makes  it  the  more  astonishing,  it  is  not  the 
taste  of  the  rabble,  but  of  persons  of  the  greatest  politeness, 
which  has  established  it. 

If  the  Italians  have  a  genius  for  music  above  the  English, 
the  English  have  a  genius  for  other  performances  of  a  much 
higher  naature,  and  capable  of  giving  the  mind  a  much  nobler 
entertainment.  Would  one  think  it  was  possible  (at  a  time 
when  an  author  lived  that  was  able  to  write  the  Phaedra  and 
Ilippolitus)  ^  for  a  people  to  be  so  stupidly  fond  of  the  Italian 
opera,  as  scarce  to  give  a  third  day's  hearing  to  that  admirable 

*  A  tragedy  by  Edmund  Smith,  brought  out  unsuccessfully  in  1707,  but 
favourably  received  in  pi  int. — G. 


N"o.  21.] 


SPECTATOR. 


65 


tragedy?  Music  is  certainly  a  very  agreeable  entertainment,  but 
if  it  would  take  the  entire  possession  of  our  ears,  if  it  would 
make  us  incapable  of  hearing  sense,  if  it  would  exclude  arts  that 
have  a  much  greater  tendency  to  the  refinement  of  human  nature; 
I  must  confess  I  would  allow  it  no  better  quarter  than  Plato  has 
done,  who  banishes  it  out  of  his  commonwealth.^ 

At  present,  our  notions  of  music  are  so  very  uncertain,  that 
we  do  not  know  what  it  is  we  like  ;  only  in  general  we  are  trans- 
ported with  any  thing  that  is  not  English  :  so  it  be  of  a  foreign 
growth,  let  it  be  Italian,  French,  or  High-dutch,  it  is  the  same 
thing.  In  short,  our  English  music  is  quite  rooted  out,  and 
nothing  yet  planted  in  its  stead. 

When  a  royal  palace  is  burned  to  the  ground,  every  man  is 
at  liberty  to  present  his  plan  for  a  new  one ;  and  though  it  be  but 
indifferently  put  together,  it  may  furnish  several  hints  that  may 
be  of  use  to  a  good  architect.  I  shall  take  the  same  liberty  in 
a  following  paper,  of  giving  my  opinion  upon  the  subject  of 
music  :  which  I  shall  lay  down  only  in  a  problematical  manner, 
to  be  considered  by  those  who  are  masters  in  the  art.  C. 


No.  21.    SATURDAY,  MARCH  24. 

 Locus  est  et  pluribus  umbris. 

IIoR.  Ep.  5, 1.  1.  V.  28. 
There's  room  enough,  and  each  may  bring  his  friend. 

CiiEEcn. 

I  AM  sometimes  very  much  troubled,  when  I  reflect  upon  the 
three  great  professions  of  divinity,  law,  and  physic  ;  how  they 

^  In  speaking-  of  tliis  passage,  Johnson  says,  '  The  anthoiMty  of  Ad>lison 
is  gr^at;  yet  the  voice  of  the  people,  when  to  p^ease  the  peoj^le  is  the 
purpose,  deserves  regard.  In  this  question,  I  cannot  but  think  the  people 
iu  the  right.'    Y.  Jolinson's  Lives  of  the  Poets.    Smith,  p.  22.— G. 


66 


S  r  E  C  T  A  T  O  11 


[No.  21 


are  each  of  them  over-burdened  with  practitioners,  and  filled  with 
multitudes  of  ingenious  gentlemen  that  starve  one  another. 

We  may  divide  the  clergy  into  generals,  field-officers,  and 
subalterns.  Among  the  first  we  may  reckon  bishops,  deans,  and 
archdeacons.  Among  the  second  are  doctors  of  divinity,  pre- 
bendaries, and  all  that  wear  scarfs.  The  rest  are  comprehended 
under  the  subalterns.  As  for  the  first  class,  our  constitution 
preserves  it  from  any  redundancy  of  incumbents,  notwithstanding 
competitors  are  numberless.  Upon  a  strict  calculation,  it  is 
found  that  there  has  been  a  great  exceeding  of  late  years  in  the 
second  division,  several  brevets  having  been  granted  for  the  con- 
verting of  subalterns  into  scarf-officers ;  insomuch,  that  within 
my  memory  the  price  of  lustring  is  raised  above  two-pence  in  a 
yard.  As  for  the  subalterns,  they  are  not  to  be  numbered. 
Should  our  clergy  once  enter  into  the  corrupt  practice  of  the 
laity,  by  the  splitting  of  their  freeholds,  they  would  be  able  to 
carry  most  of  the  elections  in  England. 

The  body  of  the  law  is  no  less  encumbered  with  superfluous 
members,  that  are  like  Virgil's  army,  which  he  tells  us  was  so 
crowded,  many  of  them  had  not  room  to  use  their  weapons. 
This  prodigious  society  of  men  may  be  divided  into  the  litigious 
and  peaceable.  Under  the  first  are  comprehended  all  those 
who  are  carried  down  in  coach-fulls  to  Westminster  Hall,  every 
morning  in  term-time.  Martial's  description  of  this  species  of 
lawyers  is  full  of  humour  : 

Iras  et  verba  locaiit. 

*  Men  that  hire  out  their  words  and  anger ;  '  that  are  more  or 
less  passionate  according  as  they  are  paid  for  it,  and  allow  their 
client  a  quantity  of  wrath  proportionable  to  the  fee  which  they 
receive  from  him.  I  must,  however,  observe  to  the  reader,  that 
above  three  parts  of  those  whom  I  reckon  among  the  litigious, 


No.  21.] 


SPECTATOR. 


67 


are  such  as  are  only  quarrelsome  in  their  hearts,  and  have  no 
opportunity  of  shewing  their  passion  at  the  bar.  Nevertheless,  as 
they  do  not  know  what  strifes  may  arise,  they  appear  at  the  hall 
every  day,  that  they  may  show  themselves  in  readiness  to  enter 
the  lists,  whenever  there  shall  be  occasion  for  them. 

The  peaceable  lawyers  are,  in  the  first  place,  many  of  the 
benchers  of  the  several  inns  of  court,  who  seem  to  be  the  dio:nita- 
ries  of  the  law,  and  are  endowed  with  those  qualifications  of  mind 
that  accomplish  a  man  rather  for  a  ruler  than  a  pleader.  These 
men  live  peaceably  in  their  habitations,  eating  once  a  daj^,  and 
dancing  once  a  year,  for  the  honour  of  the  respective  societies.^ 

Another  numberless  branch  of  peaceable  lawyers,  are  those 
young  men,  who  being  placed  at  the  inns  of  court  in  order  to  study 
the  laws  of  their  country,  frequent  the  playhouse  more  than 
Westminster- hall,  and  are  seen  in  all  public  assemblies,  except  in 
a  court  of  justice.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  those  silent  and  busy 
multitudes  that  are  employed  within  doors,  in  the  drawing  up  of 
writings  and  conveyances ;  nor  of  those  greater  numbers  that 
palliate  their  want  of  business  with  a  pretence  to  such  chamber- 
practice. 

If,  in  the  third  place,  we  look  into  the  profession  of  physic, 
we  shall  find  a  most  formidable  body  of  men :  the  sight  of  them 
is  enough  to  make  a  man  serious  ;  for  we  may  lay  it  down  as  a 
maxim,  that  when  a  nation  abounds  in  physicians,  it  grows  thin 
of  people.  Sir  William  Temple  is  very  much  puzzled  to  find 
out  a  reason  why  the  northern  hive,  as  he  calls  it,  does  not  send 
out  such  prodigious  swarms,  and  over-run  the  world  with  Goths 
and  Vandals,  as  it  did  formerly  ;  b^t  had  that  excellent  author 
observed,  that  there  were  no  students  in  physic  among  the  sub- 
jects of  Thor  and  Woden,  and  that  this  science  very  much  flour- 
ishes in  the  north  at  present,  he  might  have  found  a  better  solu- 

V.  Dugdale's  Origines  Juridiciales. — C 


68 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  21 


tion  for  this  difficulty  than  any  of  those  he  has  made  nse  of. 
This  body  of  nien,  in  our  own  country,  may  be  described  like  the 
British  army  in  Caesar's  time  :  some  of  them  slay  in  chariots,  and 
some  on  foot.  If  the  infantry  do  less  execution  than  the  chario- 
teers,  it  is  because  they  cannot  be  carried  so  soon  into  all  quarters 
of  the  town,  and  dispatch  so  much  business  in  so  short  a  time. 
Besides  this  body  of  regular  troops,  there  are  stragglers,  who, 
without  being  duly  listed  and  enrolled,  do  infinite  mischief  to 
those  who  are  so  unlucky  as  to  fall  into  their  hands. 

There  are,  besides  the  above-mentioned,  innumerable  retainers 
to  physic,  who^  for  want  of  other  patients,  amuse  themselves  with 
the  stifling  of  cats  in  an  air-pump,  cutting  up  dogs  alive^  or  im- 
paling of  insects upon  the  point  of  a  needle  for  microscopical 
observations  ;  besides  those  that  are  employed  in  the  gathering  of 
weeds,  and  the  chace  of  butterflies  :  not  to  mention  the  cockleshell- 
merchants  and  spider-catchers. 

When  I  consider  how  each  of  these  professions  are  crowded 
with  multitudes  that  seek  their  livelihood  in  them,  and  how  many 
men  of  merit  there  are  in  each  of  them,  who  may  be  rather  said 
to  be  of  the  science,  than  the  profession  ;  I  very  much  wonder  at 
the  humour  of  parents,  who  will  not  rather  chuse  to  place  their 
sons  in  a  way  of  life  where  an  honest  industry  cannot  but  thrive, 
than  in  stations  where  the  greatest  probity,  learning,  and  good 
sense,  may  miscarry.  How  many  men  are  country  curates,  that 
might  have  made  themselves  aldermen  of  London,  by  a  right  im- 
provement of  a  smaller  sum  of  money  than  what  is  usually  laid 
out  upon  a  learned  education  !  A  sober,  frugal  person,  of  slender 
parts,  and  a  slow  apprehension,  might  have  thrived  in  trade, 
though  he  starves  upon  physic ;  as  a  man  would  be  well  enough 
pleased  to  buy  silks  of  one,  whom  he  would  not  venture^  to  feel 

There  woul  1  be  no  objection  to  this  raillery,  if  it  were  ft  that  raillery 
should  be  at  all  employed  on  a  subject  of  ihis  nature. — II. 

^  VciUnre,  is  a  neutral  veib,  and  so  cannot  stand  in  this  construction.  It 


No.  21.1 


spp:ctator. 


69 


his  pulse.  Yagellius  is  careful,  studious,  and  obliging,  but  withal 
a  little  thick-skulled;  he  has  not  a  single  client,  but  might  have 
had  abundance  of  customers.  The  misfortune  is,  that  parents 
take  a  liking  to  a  particular  profession,  and  therefore  desire  that 
their  sons  may  be  of  it.  "Whereas,  in  so  great  an  affair  of  life, 
they  should  consider  the  genius  and  abilities  of  their  children 
more  than  their  own  inclinations.^ 

It  is  the  great  advantage  of  a  trading  nation,  that  there  are 
very  few  in  it  so  dull  and  heavy,  who  may  not  be  placed  in  sta- 
tions of  life,  which  may  give  them  an  opportunity  of  making  their 
fortunes.  A  well  regulated  commerce  is  not,  like  law,  physic,  or 
divinity,  to  be  overstocked  with  hands  ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
flourishes  by  multitudes,  and  gives  employment  to  all  its  profes* 
sors.  Fleets  of  merchantmen  are  so  many  floating  shops,  that 
vend  our  wares  and  manufactures  in  all  the  markets  of  the  world, 
and  find  out  chapmen  under  both  the  tropics. — C. 

^  This  idea  is  carried  out  with  much  humour  in  the  character  of  "Will 
AVimble,  No.  108.  V.  also  Hon.  Mr.  Thomas  Gules.  Tatler,  256,  by  Steele 
and  Addison. — G. 


sboul-1  be  employ,  call  hi,  or  some  sucli  transitive  verb,  of  wliich  wJioirC* 
might  be  governed  ;  and  through  which  the  />er.so7i  and  the  act,  i.  e.  ^'wh(y)tC* 
and  ^^feel  "  should  be  necessarily  connected. — H. 


70 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  23 


No.  23.1    TUESDAY,  MARCH  27. 

Saevit  atrjx  Yolscens,  nec  teli  confsfncit  usquam 
Auctorem,  nec  quo  se  ardens  immittere  possit. 

YiRG.  ^n.  ix.  420. 
Fierce  Volscens  foams  with  rage,  and  gazing  round, 
Dcscr3'^''d  not  him  who  gave  tlie  fatal  wound  ; 
Nor  knew  to  fix  revenge  

Drtden. 

There  is  nothing  that  more  betrays  a  base  ungenerous  spirit, 
than  the  giving  of secret  stabs  to  a  man's  reputation.  Lampoons 
and  satires,  that  are  written  with  wit  and  spirit,  are  like  poisoned 

1  The  following  endorsement  at  the  top  of  this  paper,  ]^o.  23,  is  in  a 
set  of  the  Spectator,  in  12nio.,  in  the  edition  of  1712,  which  contains  some 
MS.  notes  by  a  Spanish  merchant,  who  lived  at  the  time  of  the  original 
publication. 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  DR.  SWIFT. 

This  was  Mr.  Blundel's  opinion,  and  whether  it  was  well-grounded,  ill- 
grounded,  or  ungrounded,  probably  he  was  not  singular  in  tlie  thought. 
Tlie  intimacy  between  Swift,  Steele,  and  Addison  was  now  over ;  and  that 
they  were  about  this  time  estranged,  appears  from  Swift's  own  testimony, 
dated  March  16,  1710-11.  See  Swift's  Works,  edit.  or.  8vo.,  vol.  xxii.  p. 
188.    See  No.  509,  Blundel's  MS.  Note;  et  passim.— 

Neither  the  Spanish  merchant  nor  Mr.  Blundel  did  much  honor  to  Ad- 
dison's sincerity,  for  he  was  never  on  bad  terms  with  Swift ;  and  tells  him  in 
a  very  friendly  letter,  written  several  years  after  this,  that  he  has  always 
honoured  him  for  his  good  nature. — V.  vol.  ii.  p.  543. — G. 

*  Tlie  giving  of.  This  use  of  the  participle,  instead  of  the  substantive^ 
is  agreeable  to  the  English  idiom,  and  has  a  good  effect  in  our  language, 
which  in  this,  as  in  other  instances,  resembles  the  Greek,  much  more  than 
the  Latin  tongue.  But  our  polite  writers,  being  gv^nerally  more  conversant 
in  the  latter  of  these  languages,  have  gradually  introduced  the  substantive^ 
or  a  verb  in  the  infini-tive  mood,  into  the  j'lace  of  the  participle.  Thus, 
th('v  would  s:iy,  detraction,''^  or  to  detract  from  the  reputation  of  others 
slicws  a  base  spirit."  Yet  the  practice  is  not  so  far  established,  but  that 
the  other  mode  of  expies^^ion  mny,  sometimes  (though  more  sparingly, 
perhaps,  than  heretofore),  be  employed.  An  exact  writer,  indeed,  would 
not  set  out  with  a  sentence  in  this  form  ;  but,  in  the  body  of  a  discourse, 
"  currente  calaino,"  he  would  not  scruple  to  make  use  of  it.  Never  to  em- 
ploy the  participle,  would  be  finical  and  alTect'^d  :  to  employ  it  constantly, 
or  fi'equently,  would  now  bethought  careless;  but  to  employ  it  occasion- 
ally, contributes  plainl}^  to  the  variet}',  and,  1  think,  to  the  grace,  of  a  good 
Knglish  style. — H. 


No.  23.] 


SPECTATOR. 


71 


darts,  wliich  not  only  inliict  a  wound,  but  make  it  incurable.  For 
this  reason  I  am  very  much  troubled  when  I  see  the  talents  of 
humour  and  ridicule  in  the  possession  of  an  ill-natured  man. 
There  cannot  be  a  greater  gratification  to  a  barbarous  and  inhu- 
man wit,  than  to  stir  up  sorrow  in  the  heart  of  a  private  person, 
to  raise  uneasiness  among  near  relations,  and  to  expose  whole 
families  to  derision,  at  the  same  time  that  he  remains  unseen  and 
undiscovered.  If,  besides  the  accomplishments  of  being  witty  and 
ill-natured,  a  man  is  vicious  into  the  bargain,  he  is  one  of  the 
most  mischievous  creatures  that  can  enter  into  a  civil  society. 
His  satire  will  then  chiefly  fall  upon  those  who  ought  to  be  the 
most  exempt  from  it.  Virtue,  merit,  and  every  thing  that  is 
praiseworthy,  will  be  made  the  subject  of  ridicule  and  buffoonery. 
It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  the  evils  which  arise  from  these 
arrows  that  fly  in  the  dark ;  ^  and  I  know  no  other  excuse  that 
is  or  can  be  made  for  them,  than  that  the  wounds  they  give  are 
only  imaginary,  and  produce  nothing  more  than  a.  secret  shame  or 
sorrow  in  the  mind  of  the  sufiering  person.  It  must  indeed  be 
confessed,  that  a  lampoon  or  a  satire  do  not  carry  in  them  robbery 
or  murder ;  but  at  the  same  time,  how  many  are  there  that  would 
not  rather  lose  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  or  even  life  itself, 
than  be  set  up  as  marks  of  infamy  and  derision  ?  And  in  this 
case  a  man  should  consider,  that  an  injury  is  not  to  be  measured 
by  the  notions  of  him  that  gives,  but  of  him  that  receives  it. 

Those  who  can  put  the  best  countenance  upon  the  outrages  of 
this  nature  which  are  offered  them,  are  not  without  their  secret 
anguish.  I  have  often  observed  a  passage  in  Socrates's  behaviour 
at  his  death,  in  a  light  wherein  none  of  the  critics  have  considered 
it.    That  excellent  man,  entertaining  his  friends,  a  little  before  he 

^  Which  arise  from,  these  arrows  that  Jly  in  the  dark.  This  sentence  had 
been  more  exact,  and  less  languid,  if  he  had  said,  Innumerahle  evi/s  arise 
from  those  arrows  that  Jly  hi  the  dark. — H 


72 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  23. 


drank  the  bowl  of  poison,  with  a  discourse  on  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  at  his  entering  upon  it  says,  that  he  does  not  believe  any 
the  most  comic  genius  can  censure  him  for  talking  upon  such 
a  subject  at  such  a  time.  This  passage,  I  think,  evidently  glances 
upon  Aristophanes,  who  writ  a  comedy  on  purpose  to  ridicule  the 
discourses  of  that  divine  philosopher.  It  has  been  observed  by 
many  writers  that  Socrates  was  so  little  moved  at  this  piece  of 
buffoonery,  that  he  was  several  times  present  at  its  being  acted  upon 
the  stage,  and  never  expressed  the  least  resentment  of  it.  But  with 
submission,  I  think  the  remark  I  have  here  made  shews  us  that 
this  unworthy  treatment  made  an  impression  upon  Lis  mind, 
though  he  had  been  too  wise  to  discover  it. 

When  Julius  Caesar  was  lampooned  by  Catullus,  he  invited 
him  to  a  supper,  and  treated  him  with  such  a  generous  civility,  that 
he  made  the  poet  his  friend  ever  after.  Cardinal  Mazarine  gave 
the  same  kind  of  treatment  to  the  learned  Quillet,  who  had  reflect- 
ed upon  his  eminence  in  a  famous  Latin  poem.  The  cardinal 
sent  for  him,  and,  after  some  kind  expostulations  upon  what  he 
had  written,  assured  him  of  his  esteem,  and  dismissed  him  with  a 
promise  of  the  next  good  abbey  that  should  fall,  which  he  accord- 
ingly conferred  upon  him  in  a  few  months  after.  This  had  so 
good  an  effect  upon  the  author,  that  he  dedicated  the  second  edi- 
tion of  his  book  to  the  cardinal,  after  having  expunged  the 
passages  which  had  given  him  offence. 

Sextus  Quintus  was  not  of  so  generous  and  forgiving  a  tem- 
per. Upon  his  being  made  pope,  the  statue  Pasquin  was  one  night 
dressed  in  a  very  dirty  shirt,  with  an  excuse  written  under  it,  that 
he  was  forced  to  wear  foul  linen  because  his  laundress  was  made  a 
princess.  This  was  a  reflection  upon  the  pope's  sister,  who,  before 
the  promotion  of  her  brother,  was  in  those  mean  circumstances  that 
Pasquin  represented  her.  As  this  pasquinade  made  a  great  noise 
in  Rome,  the  pope  offered  a  considerable  sum  of  money  to  any 


No,  23.] 


SPECTATOR. 


73 


person  that  should  discover  the  author  of  it.  The  author  rely- 
ing upon  his  holiness's  generosity,  as  also  on  some  private  over- 
tures which  he  had  received  from  him,  made  the  discovery  him- 
self ;  upon  which  the  pope  gave  him  the  reward  he  had  promised, 
but  at  the  same  time,  to  disable  the  satirist  for  the  future, 
ordered  his  tongue  to  be  cut  out,  and  both  his  hands  to  be  chop- 
ped off.  Aretine  is  too  trite  an  instance.^  Everyone  knows  that 
all  the  kings  of  Europe  were  his  tributaries.  Nay,  there  is  a  let- 
ter of  his  extant,  in  which  he  makes  his  boasts  that  he  had  laid 
the  Sophi  of  Persia  under  contribution.'^ 

Though,  in  the  various  examples  which  I  have  here  drawn  toge- 
ther, these  several  great  men  behaved  themselves  very  differently 
towards  the  wits  of  the  age  v^  ho  had  reproached  them  ;  they  all 
plainly  shewed  that  they  were  very  sensible  of  their  reproaches  of 
them,  and  consequently  that  they  received  them  as  very  great  inju- 
ries. For  my  own  part,  I  would  never  trust  a  man  that  I  thought 
was  capable  of  giving  these  secret  wounds  ;  and  cannot  but  think 
that  he  would  hurt  the  persoD,  whose  reputation  he  thus  assaults,  in 
his  body  or  in  his  fortune,  could  he  do  it  with  the  same  security. 
There  is  indeed  something  very  barbarous  and  inhuman  in  the 
ordinary  scribblers  of  lampoons.  An  innocent  young  lady  shall 
be  exposed  for  an  unhappy  feature.    A  father  of  a  family  turned 

1  Pietro  Aretino,  bom  at  Arezzo  in  1492 — died  1556 — poet  and  prose 
writer;  vain,  licentious,  and  mean:  equally  distinguished  by  his  base  adu- 
lation and  bitter  invective.  The  pensions  which  he  received  were  as  much 
the  reward  of  his  flattery,  as  bribes  against  his  satire.  His  devotional 
writings  look  strangely  by  the  side  of  his  comedies  and  sonetti  lussuriosi  : 
yet  they  won  him  such  favor  at  Rome,  that  he  was  not  without  hopes  of 
obtaining  the  Cardinal's  hat.  It  was  on  a  medal  struck  by  his  own  direc- 
tions that  the  title,  which  Addison  gives  him,  is  found — Bivus  Petrus 
Aretinus,  Jlagellum  principum. — G. 

2  V.  Aretino's  lett.,  L.  vi.  fol.  115.— C. 

a  Circumstances  that  Pasquin  represented  her.  Carelessly  and  ellipti- 
cally  expressed,  vol.  iv. — H. 

VOL.  V. — 4 


74 


SPECTATOR. 


[^O.  23. 


into  ridicule  for  some  domestic  calamit3^  A  wife  be  made  uneasy 
all  her  life  for  a  misinterpreted  word  or  action.  Nay,  a  good, 
a  temperate,  and  a  just  man,  shall  be  put  out  of  countenance 
by  the  representation  of  those  qualities  that  should  do  him  hon- 
our. So  pernicious  a  thing  is  wit,  when  it  is  not  tempered  with 
virtue  and  humanity. 

I  have  indeed  heard  of  heedless  inconsiderate  writers,  that  with- 
out any  malice  have  sacrificed  the  reputation  of  their  friends  and 
acquaintance,  to  a  certain  levity  of  temper,  and  a  silly  ambition 
of  distinguishing  themselves  by  a  spirit  of  raillery  and  satire  :  as 
if  it  were  not  infinitely  more  honourable  to  be  a  good-natured  man 
than  a  wit.  Where  there  is  this  little  petulant  humour  in  an 
author,  he  is  often  very  mischievous  without  designing  to  be  so. 
For  which  reason  I  always  lay  it  down  as  a  rule,  that  an  indiscreet 
man  is  more  hurtful  than  an  ill-natured  one ;  for  as  the  one  will 
only  attack  his  enemies,  and  those  he  wishes  ill  to,  the  other  in- 
jures indifi"erently  both  friends  and  foes.  1  cannot  forbear,  on 
this  occasion,  transcribing  a  fable  out  of  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange, 
which  accidentally  lies  before  me.  A  company  of  waggish  boys 
were  watching  of  frogs  at  the  side  of  a  pond,  and  still  as  any  of 
them  put  up  their  heads,  they'd  be  pelting  them  down  again  with 
stones.  ^  Children,'  says  one  of  the  frogs,  ^  you  never  consider  that 
though  this  be  play  to  you,  'tis  death  to  us.' " 

As  this  week  is  in  a  manner  set  apart  and  dedicated  to  serious 
thoughts,  I  shall  indulge  myself  in  such  speculations  as  may  not 
be  altogether  unsuitable  to  the  season  ;  and  in  the  mean  time,  as 
the  setting  in  ourselves  a  charitable  frame  of  mind  is  a  work  very 
proper  for  the  time,  I  have  in  this  paper  endeavoured  to  expose 
that  particular  breach  of  charity  which  has  been  generally  over- 
looked by  divines,  because  they  are  but  few  who  can  be  guilty  of  it. 

C. 


No.  25.] 


SPECTATOR. 


75 


No.  25.    THURSDAY,  MARCH  29. 

 JEgrescitqiie  medendo. 

ViRG.  Mn.  xii.  46. 
And  sickens  by  the  very  means  of  health. 

The  following  letter  will  explain  itself,  and  needs  no  apology. 

^SlR, 

I  AM  one  of  that  sickly  tribe  who  are  commonly  known  by  the 
name  of  valetudinarians;  and  do  confess  to  you,  that  I  first  con- 
tracted this  ill  habit  of  body,  of  rather  of  mind,  by  the  study  of 
physic.  I  no  sooner  began  to  peruse  books  of  this  nature,  but  I 
found  my  pulse  was  irregular  ;  and  scarce  ever  read  the  account  of 
any  disease,  that  I  did  not  fancy  myself  afflicted  with.^  Doctor  Sy- 
denham's learned  treatise  of  fevers  threw  me  into  a  lingering  hectic, 
which  hung  upon  me  all  the  while  I  was  reading  that  excellent 
piece.  I  then  applied  myself  to  the  study  of  several  authors,  who 
have  written  upon  phthisical  distempers,  and  by  that  means  fell 
into  a  consumption ;  till  at  length  growing  very  fat,  I  was  in  a 
manner  shamed  out  of  that  imagination.  Not  long  after  this  I 
found  in  myself  all  the  symptoms  of  the  gout,  except  pain  :  but 
was  cured  of  it  by  a  treatise  upon  the  gravel,  written  by  a  very 
ingenious  author,  who  (as  it  is  usual  for  physicians  to  convert  one 
distemper  into  another)  eased  me  of  the  gout  by  giving  me  the 
stone.  I  at  length  studied  myself  into  a  complication  of  distempers ; 
but  accidentally  taking  into  my  hand  that  ingenious  discourse 
written  by  Sanctorius,  I  was  resolved  to  direct  myself  by  a  scheme 
of  rules  which  I  had  collected  from  his  observations.  The  learned 
world  are  very  well  acquainted  with  that  gentleman's  invention  ; 
who,  for  the  better  carrying  on  of  his  experiments,  contrived  a  cer- 

1  Mr.  Tickell,  in  his  preface  to  Addison's  works,  says  that  Addison  never 
had  a  regular  pulse,  which  Steele  questions,  in  his  dedication  of  the  Drum- 
mer to  Mr.  Congreve. — C. 


76 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  25. 


tain  mathematical  chair/  which  was  so  artificially  hung  upon 
springs,  that  it  would  weigh  any  thing  as  well  as  a  pair  of  scales. 
By  this  means  he  discovered  how  many  ounces  of  his  food  passed 
by  perspiration,  what  quantity  of  it  was  turned  into  nourishment, 
and  how  much  went  away  by  the  other  channels  and  distributions 
of  nature. 

^  Having  provided  myself  with  this  chair,  I  used  to  study,  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep  in  it ;  insomuch  that  I  may  be  said,  for  these 
three  last  years,  to  have  lived  in  a  pair  of  scales.  I  compute 
myself,  when  I  am  in  full  health,  to  be  precisely  two  hundred 
weight,  falling  short  of  it  about  a  pound  after  a  day's  fast,  and 
exceeding  it  as  much  after  a  very  full  meal ;  so  that  it  is  my  con- 
tinual employment  to  trim  the  balance  between  these  two  volatile 
pounds  in  my  constitution.  In  my  ordinary  meals  I  fetch  myself 
up  to  two  hundred  weight  and  half  a  pound ;  and  if  after  having 
dined  I  find  myself  fall  short  of  it,  I  drink  just  so  much  small- 
beer,  or  eat  such  a  quantity  of  bread,  as  is  sufficient  to  make  me 
weight.  In  my  greatest  excesses  I  do  not  transgress  more  than  the 
other  half  pound  ;  which,  for  my  health's  sake,  I  do  the  first  Mon- 
day in  every  month.    As  soon  as  I  find  myself  duly  poised  after 

1  Sanctorius,  or  Santorius,  the  ingenious  inventor  of  the  first  thermometer, 
as  has  been  shown  in  a  note  on  Tatler,  No.  220,  was  a  celebrated  profes- 
sor of  medicine  in  the  University  of  Padua  early  in  the  XVIIth  century, 
who,  by  means  of  a  weighing  chair  of  his  own  invention,  made  and  ascertain- 
ed many  curious  and  important  discoveries  relative  to  insensible  perspiration 
On  this  subject  he  published  at  Venice  in  1634,  16mo.,  a  very  ingenious 
and  interesting  book,  entitled  De  Me  Jieina  Statica,  which  has  gone  through 
very  many  editions,  and  has  been  translated  into  all  modern  languages. 
The  Latin  edition  before  me  is  2  vols.  12mo.  Parisiis,  1725  ;  by  glancing  at 
which,  in  a  bookseller's  shop,  the  annotator  was  led  to  believe  that  Santo- 
rius had  lived  to  befriend  the  important  invention  of  inoculation  for  the 
smallpox,  as  is  said  in  a  note  on  the  Tatler,  No.  55 ;  but  having  bought 
the  book,  he  soon  after  discovered  that  the  paper  DeYariolarum  Insitioue, 
annexed  to  the  edition  of  Santorius  above-mentioned,  was  written  origi- 
aally  by  Dr.  Keilh— C. 


No.  25.] 


SPECTATOR. 


77 


dinner,  I  walk  till  I  have  perspired  five  ounce.5  and  four  scruples ; 
and  when  I  discover,  by  my  chair,  that  I  am  so  far  reduced,  I 
fall  to  my  books,  and  study  away  three  ounces  more.  As  for  the 
remaining  parts  of  the  pound,  I  keep  no  account  of  them.  I  do 
not  dine  and  sup  by  the  clock,  but  by  my  chair ;  for  when  that 
informs  me  my  pound  of  food  is  exhausted,  I  conclude  myself  to 
be  hungry,  and  lay  in  another  with  all  diligence.  In  my  days  of 
abstinence  I  lose  a  pound  and  a  half ;  and  on  solemn  fasts  am 
two  pounds  lighter  than  on  other  days  in  the  year. 

'  I  allow  myself,  one  night  with  another,  a  quarter  of  a  pound 
of  sleep  within  a  few  grains  more  or  less ;  and  if  upon  my  rising 
I  find  that  I  have  not  consumed  my  whole  quantity,  I  take  out 
the  rest  in  my  chair.  Upon  an  exact  calculation  of  what  I  ex- 
pended and  received  the  last  year,  which  I  always  register  in  a 
book,  I  find  the  medium  to  be  two  hundred  weight,  so  that  I  cannot 
discover  that  I  am  impaired  one  ounce  in  my  health  during  a  whole 
twelvemonth.  And  yet,  sir,  notwithstanding  this  my  great  care 
to  ballast  myself  equally  every  day,  and  to  keep  my  body  in  its 
proper  poise,  so  it  is  that  I  find  myself  in  a  sick  and  languishing 
condition.  My  complexion  is  grown  very  sallow,  my  pulse  low, 
and  my  body  hydropical.  Let  me  therefore  beg  you,  sir,  to  con- 
sider me  as  your  patient,  and  to  give  me  more  certain  rules  to 
walk  by  than  those  I  have  already  observed,  and  you  will  very 
much  oblige 

^  Your  humble  servant.' 

This  letter  puts  me  in  mind  of  an  Italian  epitaph  written  on 
the  monument  of  a  Valetudinarian;  Stavo  ben^  ma  jper  star  meg - 
lio^  sto  qui :  ^  which  it  is  imjpossible  to  translate.  The  fear  of 
death  often  proves  mortal,  and  sets  people  on  methods  to  save 
their  lives,  which  infallibly  destroy  them.     This  is  a  reflection 

^  I  was  well,  but  trying  to  be  better,  I  am  here. — L. 


78 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  25 


made  by  some  historiauSj  upon  observing  that  there  are  many 
more  thousands  killed  in  a  flight  than  in  a  battle ;  and  may  be 
applied  to  those  multitudes  of  imaginary  sick  persons  that  break 
their  constitutions  by  physic,  and  throw  themselves  into  the  arms 
of  death,  by  endeavouring  to  escape  it.  This  method  is  not  only 
dangerous,  but  below  the  practice  of  a  reasonable  creature.  To 
consult  the  preservation  of  life,  as  the  only  end  of  it,  to  make  our 
health  our  business,  to  engage  in  no  action  that  is  not  part  of  a 
regimen,  or  course  of  physic ;  are  purposes  so  abject,  so  mean,  so 
unworthy  human  nature,  that  a  generous  soul  would  rather  die 
than  submit  to  them.  Besides,  that  a  continual  anxiety  for  life 
vitiates  all  the  relishes  of  it,  and  casts  a  gloom  over  the  whole 
face  of  nature ;  as  it  is  impossible  we  should  take  delight  in  any 
thing  that  we  are  every  moment  afraid  of  losing. 

I  do  not  mean,  by  what  I  have  here  said,  that  I  think  any  one 
to  blame  for  taking  due  care  of  their  health.  On  the  contrary,  as 
cheerfulness  of  mind,  and  capacity  for  business,  are  in  a  great  mea- 
sure the  effects  of  a  well-tempered  constitution,  a  man  cannot  be 
at  too  much  pains  to  cultivate  and  preserve  it.  But  this  care, 
which  we  are  prompted  to,  not  only  by  common  sense,  but  by  duty 
and  instinct,  should  never  engage  us  in  groundless  fears,  melan- 
choly apprehensions,  and  imaginary  distempers,  which  are  natural 
to  every  man  who  is  more  anxious  to  live  than  how  to  live.  In 
short,  the  preservation  of  life  should  be  only  a  secondary  concern, 
and  the  direction  of  it  our  principal.  If  we  have  this  frame  of 
mind,  we  shall  take  the  best  means  to  preserve  life,  without  being 
over  solicitous  about  the  event ;  and  shall  arrive  at  that  point  of 
felicity  which  Martial  has  mentioned  as  the  perfection  of  happi- 
ness, of  neither  fearing  nor  wishing  for  death. 

In  answer  to  the  gentleman,  who  tempers  his  health  by  ounces 
and  by  scruples,  and  instead  of  complying  with  those  natural 
solicitations  of  hunger  and  thirst,  drowsiness  or  love  of  exercise. 


No.  26.] 


SPECTATOR. 


79 


governs  himself  by  the  prescriptions  of  his  chair,  I  shall  tell  him 
a  short  fable.  Jupiter,  says  the  mythologist,  to  reward  the  piety 
of  a  certain  countryman,  promised  to  give  him  whatever  he  would 
ask.  The  countryman  desired  that  he  might  have  the  manage- 
ment of  the  weather  in  his  own  estate  :  He  obtained  his  request, 
and  immediately  distributed  rain,  snow,  and  sunshine  among  his 
several  fields,  as  he  thought  the  nature  of  the  soil  required.  At 
the  end  of  the  year,  when  he  expected  to  see  a  more  than  ordinary 
crop,  his  harvest  fell  infinitely  short  of  that  of  his  neighbours  : 
upon  which  (says  the  fable)  he  desired  Jupiter  to  take  the  weather 
again  into  his  own  hands,  or  that  otherwise  he  should  utterly  ruin 
himself.  C. 


No.  26.    FRIDAY,  MARCH  30. 

Pallida  mors  anquo  pulsat  pede  pauperura  tabernas 

Eegumque  turres,  O  beaie  Sexti. 
Vitas  summa  brevis  spem  nos  vetat  inchoare  longam : 

Jam  te  premct  nox,  fabulaeque  manes, 
Et  domus  exilis  Plutonia.  

HoR.l.  00.  XV.  18. 

With  equal  foot,  rich  friend,  impartial  fate 
Knocks  at  the  cottage,  and  the  palace  gate ; 
Life's  span  forbids  thee  to  extend  thy  cares, 
And  stretch  thy  hopes  beyond  thy  years ; 
Night  soon  will  seize,  and  you  must  quickly  go 
To  story'd  ghosts,  and  Pluto's  house  below. 

Creech. 

When  I  am  in  a  serious  humour,  I  very  often  walk  by  my- 
self in  Westminster  Abbey ;  where  the  gloominess  of  the  place, 
and  the  use  to  which  it  is  applied,  with  the  solemnity  of  the 
building,  and  the  condition  of  the  people  who  lie  in  it,  are  apt  to 
fill  the  mind  with  a  kind  of  melancholy,  or  rather  thoughtfulness, 
that  is  not  disagreeable.    I  yesterday  passed  a  whole  afternoon 


80 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  26. 


in  the  churcli-yard,  the  cloisters,  and  the  church,  amusing  myself 
with  the  tombstones  and  inscriptions  that  I  met  with  in  those 
several  regions  of  the  dead.  Most  of  them  recorded  nothing  else 
of  the  buried  person,  but  that  he  was  born  upon  one  day,  and  died 
upon  another :  the  whole  history  of  his  life  being  comprehended 
in  those  two  circumstances,  that  are  common  to  all  mankind.  T 
could  not  but  look  upon  these  registers  of  existence,  whether  of 
brass  or  marble,  as  a  kind  of  satire  upon  the  departed  persons ; 
who  had  left  no  other  memorial  of  them,  but  that  they  were  born 
and  that  they  died.  They  put  me  in  mind  of  several  persons 
mentioned  in  the  battles  of  heroic  poems,  who  have  sounding 
names  given  them,  for  no  other  reason  but  that  they  may  be 
killed,  and  are  celebrated  for  nothing  but  being  knocked  on  the 
head. 

VKoLVKov  re  M^Boi/rd  re  Q^pfjiXoxov  tc. 
Glaucumque,  Medontaque,  Thersiloclmmque. 

YlRG. 

Glances,  and  Medon,  and  Thersilochus. 

The  life  of  these  men  is  finely  described  in  holy  writ  by  '  the 
path  of  an  arrow,'  which  is  immediately  closed  up  and  lost. 

Upon  my  going  into  the  church,  I  entertained  myself  with 
the  digging  of  a  grave ;  and  saw  in  every  shovelful  of  it  that  was 
thrown  up,  the  fragment  of  a  bone  or  skull  intermixt  with  a  kind 
of  fresh  mouldering  earth,  that  some  time  or  other  had  a  place 
in  the  composition  of  a  human  body.  Upon  this  I  began  to  con- 
sider with  myself  what  innumerable  multitudes  of  people  lay  con- 
fused together  under  the  pavement  of  that  ancient  cathedral  ; 
how  men  and  women,  friends  and  enemies,  priests  and  soldiers, 
monks  and  prebendaries,  were  crumbled  amongst  one  another, 
and  blended  together  in  the  same  common  mass  ;  how  beauty, 


No.  26.] 


SPECTATOR. 


81 


strength,  and  youth,  with  old-age,  weakness,  and  deformity,  lay 
undistinguished  in  the  same  promiscuous  heap  of  matter. 

After  having  thus  surveyed  this  great  magazine  of  mortality, 
as  it  were,  in  the  lump ;  I  examined  it  more  particularly  by  the 
accounts  which  I  found  on  several  of  the  monuments  which  are 
raised  in  every  quarter  of  that  ancient  fabric.^  Some  of  them 
were  covered  with  such  extravagant  epitaphs,  that,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible for  the  dead  person  to  be  acquainted  with  them,  he  would 
blush  at  the  praises  which  his  friends  have  bestowed  upon  him. 
There  are  others  so  excessively  modest,  that  they  deliver  the 
character  of  the  person  departed  in  Greek  or  Hebrew,  and  by 
that  means  are  not  understood  once  in  a  twelvemonth.  In  the 
poetical  quarter,  I  found  there  were  poets  who  had  no  monu- 
ments, and  monuments  which  had  no  poets.  I  observed,  indeed, 
that  the  present  war  had  filled  the  church  with  many  of  these  un- 
inhabited monuments,  which  had  been  erected  to  the  memory  of 
persons  whose  bodies  were  perhaps  buried  in  the  plains  of  Blen- 
heim, or  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean. 

I  could  not  but  be  very  much  delighted  with  several  modern 
epitaphs,  which  are  written  with  great  elegance  of  expression  and 
justness  of  thought,  and  therefore  do  honor  to  the  living  as  well 
as  to  the  dead.  As  a  foreigner  is  very  apt  to  conceive  an  idea 
of  ^  the  ignorance  or  politeness  of  a  nation,  from  the  turn  of 
their  public  monuments  and  inscriptions,  they  should  be  submit- 
ted to  the  perusal  of  men  of  learning  and  genius,  before  they  are 
put  in  execution.  Sir  Cloudesly  Shovel's  monument  has  very 
often  given  me  great  offence  :  instead  of  the  brave  rough  English 
Admiral,  which  was  the  distinguishing  character  of  that  plain 
gallant  man,  he  is  represented  on  his  tomb  by  the  figure  of  a 

"Accounts,  which — Monuments,  which. — H. 

^If  he  had  said,  To  pass  a  judgment  on"  the  double  genitive  case  had 
been  avoided. — H. 

VOL.    V. — 4* 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  26. 


beau,  dressed  in  a  long  perriwigj  and  reposing  himself  upon  vel- 
v^et  cushions  under  a  canopy  of  state.  The  inscription  is  answer- 
able  to  the  monument ;  for  instead  of  celebrating  the  many  re- 
markable actions  he  had  performed  in  the  service  of  his  country, 
it  acquaints  us  only  with  the  manner  of  his  death,  in  which  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  reap  any  honor.  The  Dutch,  whom  we  are 
apt  to  despise  for  want  of  genius,  show  an  infinitely  greater  taste 
of  antiquity  and  politeness  in  their  buildings  and  works  of  this 
nature,  than  what  we  meet  with  in  those  of  our  own  country. 
The  monuments  of  their  admirals,  which  have  been  erected  at  the 
public  expense,  represent  them  like  themselves ;  and  are  adorned 
with  rostral  crowns  and  naval  ornaments,  with  beautiful  festoons 
of  sea-weed,  shells,  and  coral. 

But  to  return  to  our  subject.  I  have  left  the  repository  of 
our  English  Kings  for  the  contemplation  of  another  day,  when  I 
shall  find  my  mind  disposed  for  so  serious  an  amusement.  I 
know  that  entertainments  of  this  nature  are  apt  to  raise  dark  and 
dismal  thoughts  in  timorous  minds,  and  gloomy  imaginations  ; 
but  for  my  own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious,  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  melancholy ;  and  can  therefore  take  a  view  of 
nature  in  her  deep  and  solemn  scenes,  with  the  same  pleasure  as 
in  her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones.  By  this  means  I  can  im- 
prove myself  with  those  objects,  which  others  consider  with  ter- 
ror. When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion 
of  envy  dies  in  me ;  when  I  read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful, 
every  inordinate  desire  goes  out ;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of 
parents  upon  a  tomb-stone,  my  heart  melts  with  compassion  ; 
when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  themselves,  I  consider  the 
vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we  must  quickly  follow :  when 
I  see  kings  lying  by  those  who  deposed  them,  when  I  consider 
rival  wits  placed  side  by  side,  or  the  holy  men  that  divided  the 
world  with  their  contests  and  disputes,  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and 


No.  28.] 


SPECTATOR. 


83 


astonishment  on  the  little  competitions,  factions,  and  debates  of 
mankind.  When  I  read  the  several  dates  of  the  tombs,  of*  some 
that  died  yesterday,  and  some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider 
that  great  day  when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and 
make  our  appearance  together.  C. 


1^0.  28.   MOi^DAY,  APRIL  2. 

 ^-^Neque  semper  arcum 

Teudit  Apollo. 

HoR.  Od.  10,  V.  19. 
Nor  does  Apollo  always  bend  his  bow. 

I  SHALL  here  present  my  reader  with  a  letter  from  a  projector, 
concerning  a  new  office  which  he  thinks  may  very  much  contri- 
bute to  the  embellishment  of  the  city,  and  to  the  driving  bar- 
barity out  of  our  streets.  I  consider  it  as  a  satire  upon  pro- 
jectors in  general,  and  a  lively  picture  of  the  whole  art  of  modern 
criticism. 

'  Sir, 

^  Observing  that  you  have  thoughts  of  creating  certain 
officers  under  you,  for  the  inspection  of  several  petty  enormities 
which  you  yourself  cannot  attend  to  ;  and  finding  daily  absurdi- 
ties hung  upon  the  sign-posts  of  this  city,^  to  the  great  scandal 
of  foreigners,  as  well  as  those  of  our  own  country,  who  are 
curious  spectators  of  the  same  :  I  do  humbly  propose,  that  you 
would  be  pleased  to  make  me  your  Superintendent  of  all  such 

1  Y.  Tatler  with  Nichols's  notes,  No.  18-87.— G. 

When  I  read  the  several  dates  of  the  tombs,  o  f  some,  (fee]  Better  thus, 
*  When,  in  reading  the  seieral  dates  of  the  tombs]  I  find  that  some,  (fee. — H. 


84 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  2& 


figures  and  devices  as  are  or  shall  be  made  use  of  on  this  occa 
slon ;  with  full  powers  to  rectify  or  expunge  whatever  I  shall 
find  irregular  or  defective.  For  v/ant  of  such  an  officer,  there  is 
nothing  like  sound  literature  and  good  sense  to  be  met  with  in 
those  objects  that  are  every  where  thrusting  themselves  out  to 
the  eye,  and  endeavouring  to  become  visible.  Our  streets  are 
filled  with  blue  boars,  black  swans,  and  red  lions  ;  not  to  men- 
tion flying  pigs,  and  hogs  in  armour,  with  many  other  creatures 
more  extraordinary  than  any  in  the  deserts  of  Africa.  Strange  ! 
that  one  who  has  all  the  birds  and  beasts  in  nature  to  chuse  out 
of,  should  live  at  the  sign  of  an  E?is  Rationis ! 

^  My  first  task  therefore  should  be,  like  that  of  Hercules,  to 
clear  the  city  from  monsters. — In  the  second  place  I  would  for- 
bid, that  creatures  of  jarring  and  incongruous  natures  should  be 
joined  together  in  the  same  sign ;  such  as  the  bell  and  the  neats- 
tongue,  the  dog  and  gridiron.  The  fox  and  goose  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  met ;  but  what  has  the  fox  and  the  seven  stars  to 
do  together  ?  And  when  did  the  lamb  and  dolphin  ever  meet, 
except  upon  a  sign-post  ?  As  for  the  cat  and  fiddle,  there  is  a 
conceit  in  it ;  and  therefore  I  do  not  intend  that  any  thing  I  have 
here  said  should  affect  it.  I  must  however  observe  to  you  upon 
this  subject,  that  it  is  usual  for  a  young  tradesman,  at  his  first 
setting  up,  to  add  to  his  sign  that  of  the  master  whom  he  served ; 
as  the  husband,  after  marriage,  gives  a  place  to  his  mistress's 
arms  in  his  own  coat.  This  I  take  to  have  given  rise  to  many 
of  those  absurdities  which  are  committed  over  our  heads ;  and, 
as  I  am  informed,  first  occasioned  the  three  nuns  and  a  hare, 
which  we  see  so  frequently  joined  together.  I  would  therefore 
establish  certain  rules,  for  the  determining  how  far  one  trades- 
man may  give  the  sign  of  another,  and  in  what  cases  he  may  be 
allowed  to  quarter  it  with  his  own. 

^  In  the  third  place,  I  would  enjoin  every  shop  to  make  use 


No.  28.1 


SPECTATOR. 


85 


of  a  sign  which  bears  some  affinity  to  the  wares  in  which  it  deals. 
What  can  be  more  inconsistent  than  to  see  a  bawd  at  the  sign 
of  the  Angel,  or  a  tailor  at  the  lion  ?  A  cook  should  not  live  at 
the  boot,  nor  a  shoemaker  at  the  roasted  pig  ;  and  yet,  for  want 
of  this  regulation,  I  have  seen  a  goat  set  up  before  the  door  of  a 
perfumer,  and  the  French  King's  head  at  a  sword-cutler's. 

'  An  ingenious  foreigner  observes,  that  several  of  those  gen- 
tlemen who  value  themselves  upon  their  families,  and  overlook 
such  as  are  bred  to  trade,  bear  the  tools  of  their  forefathers  in 
their  coats  of  arms.  I  will  not  examine  how  true  this  is  in  fact ; 
but  though  it  may  not  be  necessary  for  posterity  thus  to  set  up 
the  sign  of  their  forefathers  ;  I  think  it  highly  proper  for  those 
who  actually  profess  the  trade,  to  shew  some  such  marks  of  it 
before  their  doors. 

*  When  the  name  gives  an  occasion  for  an  ingenious  sign-post,  I 
would  likewise  advise  the  owner  to  take  that  opportunity  of  let- 
ting the  world  know  who  he  is.  It  would  have  been  ridiculous 
for  the  ingenious  Mrs.  Salmon  to  have  lived  at  the  sign  of  the 
trout ;  for  which  reason  she  has  erected  before  her  house  the  figure 
of  the  fish  that  is  her  namesake.  Mr.  Bell  has  likewise  distin- 
guished himself  by  a  device  of  the  same  nature  :  and  here,  sir,  I 
must  beg  leave  to  observe  to  you,  that  this  particular  figure  of  a 
bell  has  given  occasion  to  several  pieces  of  wit  in  this  kind.  A 
man  of  your  reading  must  know  that  Able  Drugger  gained  great 
applause  by  it  in  the  time  of  Ben  Johnson.  Our  apocryphal 
heathen  god  is  also  represented  by  this  figure  ;  which,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  dragon,  makes  a  very  handsome  picture  in  several 
of  our  streets.^  As  for  the  Bell  Savage,  which  is  the  sign  of  a 
savage  man  standing  by  a  bell,  I  was  formerly  very  much  puzzled 
upon  the  conceit  of  it,  till  I  accidentally  fell  into  the  reading  of 

1  St.  George.— 0. 


86 


SPECTATOPw. 


[No.  28 


an  old  romance  translated  out  of  the  French  ;  which  gives  an  ac- 
count of  a  very  beautiful  woman  who  was  found  in  a  wilderness, 
and  is  called  in  the  French  La  Belle  Sauvage^  and  is  every 
where  translated  by  our  countrymen  the  Bell  Savage.  This  piece 
of  philology  will,  I  hope,  convince  you  that  I  have  made  sign- 
posts my  study,  and  consequently  qualified  myself  for  the  employ- 
ment which  I  solicit  at  your  hands.  But  before  I  conclude  my 
letter,  I  must  communicate  to  you  another  remark  which  I  have 
made  upon  the  subject  with  which  I  am  now  entertaining  you, 
namely,  that  I  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  humour  of  the  in- 
habitant by  the  sign  that  hangs  before  his  door.  A  surly  choleric 
fellow,  generally  makes  choice  of  a  bear  ;  as  men  of  milder  dis- 
positions frequently  live  at  the  lamb.  Seeing  a  punch-bowl 
painted  upon  a  sign  near  Charing- cross,  and  very  curiously  gar- 
nished, with  a  couple  of  angels  hovering  over  it,  and  squeezing  a 
lemon  into  it,  I  had  the  curiosity  to  ask  after  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  found  upon  inquiry,  as  I  had  guessed  by  the  little 
agremens  upon  his  sign,  that  he  was  a  Frenchman.  I  know,  sir, 
it  is  not  requisite  for  me  to  enlarge  upon  these  hints  to  a  gentle- 
man of  your  great  abilities  ;  so,  humbly  recommending  myself  to 
3^our  favour  and  patronage, 

'  I  remain,'  &c. 

I  shall  add  to  the  foregoing  letter  another,  which  came  to  me 
by  the  same  penny-post. 

^  Frcm  my  own  apartment  near  Charing- cross. 

^  HONOURED  SIR, 

*  Having  heard  that  this  nation  is  a  great  encourager  of  inge- 
nuity, I  have  brought  with  me  a  rope-dancer  that  was  caught  in 
one  of  the  woods  belonging  to  the  Great  Mogul.  He  is  by  birth 
a  monkey  ;  but  swings  upon  a  rope,  takes  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and 

1  V.  No.  66,  by  Steele.— G. 


No.  29.] 


SPECTATOR. 


87 


drinks  a  glass  of  ale,  like  any  reasonable  creature.  He  gives 
great  satisfaction  to  the  quality ;  and  if  they  will  make  a  subscrip- 
tion for  him,  I  will  send  for  a  brother  of  his  out  of  Holland  that 
is  a  very  good  tumbler ;  and  also  for  another  of  the  same  family 
whom  I  design  for  my  merry-andrew,  as  being  an  excellent  mimic, 
and  the  greatest  droll  in  the  country  where  he  now  is.  I  hope  to 
have  this  entertainment  in  a  readiness  for  the  next  winter ;  and 
doubt  not  but  it  will  please  more  than  the  opera  or  puppet-show. 
I  will  not  say  that  a  monkey  is  a  better  man  than  some  of  the 
opera  heroes  ;  but  certainly  he  is  a  better  representative  of  a  man 
than  the  most  artificial  composition  of  wood  and  wire.  If  you 
will  be  pleased  to  give  me  a  good  word  in  your  paper,  you  shall  be 
every  night  a  spectator  at  my  show  for  nothing;. 

^  I  am  '  &c. 

C. 


No.  29.    TUESDAY,  APRIL  3. 

 Sermo  lingua  concinnus  utraque 

Suavior :  ut  Ohio  nota  si  commista  Falerni  est 

HoR.  I.  Sat.  X.  23. 
Botli  tongues  united  sweeter  sounds  produce, 
Like  Chian  mix  d  with  the  Falernian  juice. 

There  is  nothing  that  has  more  startled  ourEnglish  audience, 
than  the  Italian  recitativo  at  its  first  entrance  upon  the  stage. 
People  were  wonderfully  surprised  to  hear  generals  singing  the 
word  of  command,  and  ladies  delivering  messages  in  music. 
Our  countrymen  could  not  forbear  laughing  when  they  heard  a 
lover  chanting  out  a  billet-doux,  and  even  the  superscription  of 
a  letter  set  to  a  tune.  The  famous  blunder  in  an  old  play  of 
*  Enter  a  king  and  two  fiddlers  solus,'  was  now  no  longer  an  ab- 
surdity; when  it  was  impossible  for  a  hero  in  a  desert,  or  a  prin- 


88 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  29. 


cess  in  her  closet,  to  speak  any  thing  unaccompanied  with  musi- 
cal instruments. 

But  however  this  Italian  method  of  acting  in  recitativo  might 
appear  ^  at  first  hearing,  I  cannot  but  think  it  much  more  just 
than  that  which  prevailed  in  our  English  opera  before  this  inno- 
vation; the  transition  from  an  air  to  recitative  music  being  more 
natural,  than  the  passing  from  a  song  to  plain  and  ordinary  speak- 
ing, which  was  the  common  method  in  Purcell's  operas. 

The  only  fault  I  find  in  our  present  practice,  is  the  making 
use  of  Italian  recitativo  with  English  words. 

To  go  to  the  bottom  of  this  matter,  I  must  observe,  that  the 
tone  or  (as  the  French  call  it)  the  accent  of  every  nation  in  their 
ordinary  speech,  is  altogether  different  from  that  of  every  other 
people ;  as  we  may  see  even  in  the  Welsh  and  Scotch,  who  bor- 
der so  near  upon  us.  By  the  tone  or  accent,  I  do  not  mean  the 
pronunciation  of  each  particular  word,  but  the  sound  of  the  whole 
sentence.  Thus  it  is  very  common  for  an  English  gentleman, 
when  he  hears  a  French  tragedy^  to  complain  that  the  actors  all 
of  them  speak  in  a  tone ;  and  therefore  he  very  wisely  prefers 
his  own  countrymen,  not  considering  that  a  foreigner  complains 
of  the  same  tone  in  an  English  actor. 

For  this  reason,  the  recitative  music  in  every  language,  should 
be  as  different  as  the  tone  or  accent  of  each  language ;  for  other- 
wise, what  may  properly  express  a  passion  in  one  language,  will 
not  do  it  in  another.  Every  one  who  has  been  long  in  Italy, 
knows  very  well,  that  the  cadences  in  the  recitativo  bear  a  re- 
mote aiB&nity  to  the  tone  of  their  voices  in  ordinary  conversation ; 
or,  to  speak  more  properly,  are  only  the  accents  of  their  lan- 
guage made  more  musical  and  tuneful. 

Thus  the  notes  of  interrogation,  or  admiration,  in  the  Italian 

^  Might  appcarl  I  should  rather  have  said  "might  affect  us  at  first 
hearing." — H. 


No.  29.] 


SPECTATOR. 


89 


music,  (if  one  may  so  call  them,)  which  resemble  their  accents  in 
discourse  on  such  occasions,  are  not  unlike  the  ordinary  toneii 
of  an  English  voice  when  we  are  angry ;  insomuch  that  I  have 
often  seen  our  audiences  extremely  mistaken  as  to  what  has  been 
doing  upon  the  stage,  and  expecting  to  see  the  hero  knock  down 
his  messenger,  when  he  has  been  asking  him  a  question  ;  or  fan- 
cying that  he  quarrels  with  his  friend,  when  he  only  bids  him 
good-morrow. 

For  this  reason  the  Italian  artists  cannot  agree  with  our  Eng- 
lish musicians,  in  admiring  Purcell's  compositions,  and  thinking 
his  tunes  so  wonderfully  adapted  to  his  words  ;  because  both  na- 
tions do  not  always  express  the  same  passions  by  the  same  sounds. 

I  am  therefore  humbly  of  opinion,  that  an  English  composer 
should  not  follow  the  Italian  recitative  too  servilely,  but  make 
use  of  many  gentle  deviations  from  it,  in  compliance  with  his  own 
native  language.  He  may  copy  out  of  it  all  the  lulling  softness 
and  '  dying  falls,'  (as  Shakespear  calls  them,)  but  should  still  re- 
member that  he  ought  to  accommodate  himself  to  an  English  au- 
dience ;  and  by  humouring  the  tone  of  our  voices  in  ordinary 
conversation,  have  the  same  regard  to  the  accent  of  his  own  Ian 
guage,  as  those  persons  had  to  theirs  whom  he  professes  to  imi- 
tate. It  is  observed,  that  several  of  the  singing  birds  of  our  own 
country  learn  to  sweeten  their  voices,  and  mellow  the  harshness 
of  their  natural  notes,  by  practising  under  those  that  come  from 
warmer  climates.  In  the  same  manner  I  would  allow  the  Italian 
opera  to  lend  our  English  music  as  much  as  may  grace  and  soften 
it,  but  never  entirely  to  annihilate  and  destroy  it.  Let  the 
infusion  be  as  strong  as  you  please,  but  still  let  the  subject  mat- 
ter  of  it  be  English. 

A  composer  should  fit  his  music  to  the  genius  of  the  people, 
and  consider  that  the  delicacy  of  hearing,  and  taste  of  harmony, 
has  been  formed  upon  those  sounds  which  every  country  abounds 


90 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  29 


with  :  in  short,  that  music  is  of  a  relative  nature  ;  and  what  is  har- 
mony to  one  ear,  may  be  dissonance  to  another. 

The  same  observations  which  I  have  made  upon  the  recitative 
part  of  music,  may  be  applied  to  all  our  songs  and  airs  in  general. 

Signor  Baptist  LuUy  acted  like  a  man  of  sense  in  this  parti- 
cular. He  found  the  French  music  extremely  defective,  and 
very  often  barbarous  :  however,  knowing  the  genius  of  the  people, 
the  humour  of  their  language,  and  the  prejudiced  ears  he  had  to 
deal  with,  he  did  not  pretend  to  extirpate  the  French  music,  and 
plant  the  Italian  in  its  stead  ;  but  only  to  cultivate  and  civilize 
it  with  innumerable  graces  and  modulations  which  he  borrowed 
from  the  Italian.  By  this  means  ^  the  French  music  is  now  per- 
fect in  its  kind ;  and  when  you  say  it  is  not  so  good  as  the  Ital- 
ian, you  only  mean  that  it  does  not  please  you  so  well,  for  there 
is  scarce  a  Frenchman  who  would  not  wonder  to  hear  you  give 
the  Italian  such  a  preference.  The  music  of  the  French  is  indeed 
very  properly  adapted  to  their  pronunciation  and  accent,  as  their 
whole  opera  wonderfully  favours  the  genius  of  such  a  gay,  airy 
people.  The  chorus  in  which  that  opera  abounds,  gives  the  par- 
terre frequent  opportunities  of  joining  in  concert  ^  with  the  stage. 

This  inclination  of  the  audience  to  sing  along  with  the  actors, 
so  prevails  with  them,  that  I  have  sometimes  known  the  perform- 
er on  the  stage  do  no  more  in  a  celebrated  song,  than  the  clerk 
of  a  parish  church,  who  serves  only  to  raise  the  psalm,  and  is  af- 
terwards drowned  in  the  music  of  the  congregation.  Every  actor 
that  comes  on  the  stage  is  a  beau.  The  queens  and  heroines  are 
so  painted,  that  they  appear  as  ruddy  and  cherry-cheeked  as  milk- 
maids. The  shepherds  are  all  embroidered,  and  acquit  themselves 
in  a  ball  better  than  our  English  dancing-masters.  I  have  seen 
a  couple  of  rivers  appear  in  red  stockings ;  and  Alpheus,  instead 
of  having  his  head  covered  with  sedge  and  bull-rushes,  making 

^  0.  J.  These  means.  ^  0.  F.  Consort. 


No.  29.1 


SPECTATOR. 


91 


love  in  a  fair  full-bottomed  perriwig,  and  a  plume  of  feathers  ;  but 
with  a  voice  so  full  of  shakes  and  quavers,  that  I  should  have 
thought  the  murmurs  of  a  country  brook  the  much  more  agree- 
able music. 

I  remember  the  last  opera  I  saw  in  that  merry  nation,  was 
the  Rape  of  Proserpine ;  where  Pluto,  to  make  the  more  tempt- 
ing figure,  puts  himself  in  a  French  equipage,  and  brings  Asca- 
laphus  along  with  him  as  his  valet  de  chambre.  This  is  what  we 
call  folly  and  impertinence ;  but  what  the  French  look  upon  as 
gay  and  polite. 

I  shall  add  no  more  to  what  I  have  here  ofiered,  than  that 
music,  architecture,  and  painting,  as  well  as  poetry  and  oratory, 
are  to  deduce  their  laws  and  rules  from  the  general  sense  and 
taste  of  mankind,  and  not  from  the  principles  of  those  arts  them- 
selves ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  taste  is  not  to  conform  to  the  art, 
but  the  art  to  the  taste.  Music  is  not  designed  to  please  only 
chromatic  ears,  but  all  that  are  capable  of  distinguishing  harsh 
from  disagreeable  notes.  A  man  of  an  ordinary  ear  is  a  judge 
whether  a  passion  is  expressed  in  proper  sounds,  and  whethei 
the  melody  of  those  sounds  be  more  or  less  pleasing. 

C. 

Complete  sets  of  this  paper  for  the  month  of  March,  are  sold 
by  Mr.  Greaves  in  St.  James's-street ;  Mr.  Lillie,  perfumer,  the  corner  of 
Beaufort-buildings;  Messrs,  Sanger,  Knapton,  Round,  and  Mrs.  Baldwin. 
V.  Spect.'in  fol. 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  SI 


No,  31.    THURSDAY,  APRIL  5. 

Sit  mihi  fas  audita  loqui. 

ViRa.  ^n.  vi.  266. 
What  I  have  heard  permit  me  to  relate. 

Last  night,  upon  my  going  into  a  coffee-house  not  tar  from 
the  Haymarket  Theatre,  I  diverted  myself  for  above  half  an  hour 
with  overhearing  the  discourse  of  one,  who,  by  the  shabbiness  of 
his  dress,  the  extravagance  of  his  conceptions,  and  the  hurry  of 
his  speech,  I  discovered  to  be  of  that  species  who  are  generally 
distinguished  by  the  title  of  projectors.  This  gentleman,  for  I 
found  he  was  treated  as  such  by  his  audience,  was  entertaining  a 
whole  table  of  listeners  with  the  project  of  an  opera,  which  he 
told  us  had  not  cost  him  above  two  or  three  mornings  in  the  con- 
trivance, and  which  he  was  ready  to  put  in  execution,  provided 
he  might  find  his  account  in  it.  He  said,  that  he  had  observed 
the  great  trouble  and  inconvenience  which  ladies  were  at,  in 
travelling  up  and  down  to  the  several  shows  that  are  exhibited 
in  different  quarters  of  the  town.  The  dancing  monkies  are  in 
one  place ;  the  puppet-show  in  another ;  the  opera  in  a  third  ; 
not  to  mention  the  lions,  that  are  almost  a  whole  day's  journey 
from  the  politer  part  of  the  town.  By  this  means  people  of 
figure  are  forced  to  lose  half  the  winter  after  their  coming  to 
town,  before  they  have  seen  all  the  strange  sights  about  it.  In 
order  to  remedy  this  great  inconvenience,  our  projector  drew  out 
of  his  pocket  the  scheme  of  an  opera,  entitled,  The  Expedition  of 
Alexander  the  Great  ;^  in  which  he  had  disposed  all  the  re- 
markable shows  about  town,  among  the  scenes  and  decorations 
of  his  piece.  The  thought,  he  confessed,  was  not  originally  his 
own,  but  that  he  had  taken  the  hint  of  it  from  several  perform- 
ances which  he  had  seen  upon  our  stage  ;  in  one  of  which  there 

*  V,  Nichols's  notes  to  No.  14  of  Tatler,  and  Spec,  36, — G. 


N^o.  31.] 


SPECTATOR. 


93 


was  a  raree-show ;  in  another  a  ladder-dance ;  and  in  others  a 
posture-man,  a  moving  picture,  with  many  curiosities  of  the  like 
nature. 

This  Expedition  of  Alexander  opens  with  his  consulting  the 
Oracle  of  Delphos,  in  which  the  dumb  conjurer,  who  has  been 
visited  by  so  many  persons  of  quality  of  late  years,  is  to  be 
introduced  as  telling  him  his  fortune ;  at  the  same  time  Clench 
of  Barnet  is  represented  in  another  corner  of  the  temple,  as 
ringing  the  bells  of  Delphos,  for  joy  of  his  arrival.  The  tent  of 
Darius  is  to  be  peopled  by  the  ingenious  Mrs.  Salmon,  where 
Alexander  is  to  fall  in  love  with  a  piece  of  wax-work,  that  rep- 
resents the  beautiful  Statira.  When  Alexander  comes  into  that 
country,  in  which  Quintus  Curtius  tells  us  the  dogs  were  so  ex- 
ceedingly fierce  that  they  would  not  loose  their  hold,  though  they 
were  cut  to  pieces  limb  by  limb,  and  that  they  would  hang  upon 
their  prey  by  their  teeth,  when  they  had  nothing  but  a  mouth 
left,  there  is  to  be  a  scene  of  Hockley  in  the  Hole,  in  which  is 
to  be  represented  all  the  diversions  of  that  place,  the  bull-bait- 
ing only  excepted,  which  cannot  possibly  be  exhibited  in  the 
theatre,  by  reason  of  the  lowness  of  the  roof.  The  several 
woods  in  Asia,  which  Alexander  must  be  supposed  to  pass 
through,  will  give  the  audience  a  sight  of  monkies  dancing 
upon  the  ropes,  with  the  many  other  pleasantries  of  that 
ludicrous  species.  At  the  same  time,  if  there  chance  to  be  any 
strange  animals  in  town,  whether  birds  or  beasts,  they  may  be 
either  let  loose  among  the  woods,  or  driven  across  the  stage  by 
some  of  the  country  people  of  Asia.  In  the  last  great  battle, 
Pinkethman  is  to  personate  King  Porus  upon  an  elephant,  and  is 
to  be  encountered  by  Powell,  representing  Alexander  the  Great, 
upon  a  dromedary,  which,  nevertheless,  Mr.  Powell  is  desired 
to  call  by  the  name  of  Bucephalus.  Upon  the  close  of  this  great 
decisive  battle,  when  the  two  kings  are  thoroughly  reconciled, 


94 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  31. 


to  show  the  mutual  friendship  and  good  correspondence  that 
reigns  between  them,  they  both  of  them  go  together  to  a  puppet- 
show,  in  which  the  ingenious  Mr.  Powell,  junior,  may  have  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  his  whole  art  of  machinery,  for  the 
diversion  of  the  two  monarchs.  Some  at  the  table  urged,  that  a 
puppet-show  was  not  a  suitable  entertainment  for  Alexander  the 
Great ;  and  that  it  might  be  introduced  more  properly,  if  we 
suppose  the  conqueror  touched  upon  that  part  of  India  which  is 
said  to  be  inhabited  by  pigmies.  But  this  objection  was  looked 
upon  as  frivolous,  and  the  proposal  immediately  over-ruled. 
Our  projector  further  added,  that  after  the  reconciliation  of 
these  two  kings,  they  might  invite  one  another  to  dinner,  and 
either  of  them  entertain  his  guest  with  the  German  artist,  Mr. 
Pinkethman's  heathen^  gods,  or  any  of  the  like  diversions,  which 
shall  then  chance  to  be  in  vogue. 

This  project  was  received  with  very  great  applause  by  the 
whole  table.  Upon  which  the  undertaker  told  us,  that  he  had 
not  yet  communicated  to  us  above  half  his  design  ;  for  that 
Alexander  being  a  Greek,  it  was  his  intention  that  the  whole 
opera  should  be  acted  in  that  language,  which  was  a  tongue  he  was 
sure  would  wonderfully  please  the  ladies,  especially  when  it  was 
a  little  raised  and  rounded  by  the  Ionic  dialect ;  and  could  not  but 
be  acceptable  to  the  whole  audience,  because  there  are  fewer  of 
them  who  understand  Greek  than  Italian.  The  only  difficulty 
that  remained,  was,  how  to  get  performers,  unless  we  could  per- 
suade some  gentlemen  of  the  universities  to  learn  to  siog,  in  order 
to  qualify  themselves  for  the  stage :  but  this  objection  soon 
vanished,  when  the  projector  informed  us,  that  the  Greeks  were 

^  Lately  arrived  a  rare  and  curious  artist,  wlio  in  the  presence  of  all 
spectators,  makes  all  sorts  and  fashions  of  Indian,  China,  and  other  curious 
figures,  in  various  colours,  as  small  as  they  please.  Also  all  sorts  of  birds, 
fowls,  imnges  of  men,  &c.  He  bloweth  all  sorts  of  glass  curiously,  <tc.  Y. 
Nichols's  notes  to  Tatler,  No.  266.— G. 


No.  31.] 


SPECTATOR. 


95 


at  present  the  only  musicians  in  the  Turkish  empire,  and  that  it 
would  be  very  easy  for  our  factory  at  Smyrna  to  furnish  us  every 
year  with  a  colony  of  musicians,  by  the  opportunity  of  the  Tur- 
key fleet.  '  Besides,  (says  he,)  if  we  want  any  single  voice  for 
any  lower  part  in  the  opera,  Lawrence  can  learn  to  speak  Greek, 
as  well  as  he  does  Italian,  in  a  fortnight's  time.' 

The  projector  having  thus  settled  matters,  to  the  good  liking 
of  all  that  heard  him,  he  left  his  seat  at  the  table,  and  planted 
himself  before  the  fire,  where  I  had  unluckily  taken  my  stand  for 
the  convenience  of  overhearing  what  he  said.  Whether  he  had 
observed  me  to  be  more  attentive  than  ordinary,  I  cannot  tell, 
but  he  had  not  stood  by  me  above  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  but  he 
turned  short  upon  me  on  a  sudden,  and  catching  me  by  a  button 
of  my  coat,  attacked  me  very  abruptly  after  the  following  man- 
ner.^ Besides,  sir,  I  have  heard  of  a  very  extraordinary  genius 
for  music  that  lives  in  Switzerland,  who  has  so  strong  a  spring  in 
his  fingers,  that  he  can  make  the  board  of  an  organ  sound  like  a 
drum ;  and  if  I  could  but  procure  a  subscription  of  about  ten 
thousand  pounds  every  winter,  I  would  undertake  to  fetch  him 
over,  and  oblige  him  by  articles  to  set  every  thing  that  should  be 
sung  upon  the  English  stage.  After  this  he  looked  full  in  my 
face,  expecting  I  would  make  an  answer ;  when,  by  good  luck,  a 
gentleman  that  had  entered  the  cofibe-house  since  the  projector 
applied  himself  to  me,  hearing  him  talk  of  his  Swiss  compositions, 
cried  out  with  a  kind  of  laugh,  Is  our  music  then  to  receive  fur- 
ther improvements  from  Switzerland  ?  This  alarmed  the  projec- 
tor, who  immediately  let  go  my  button,  and  turned  about  to 
answer  him.  I  took  the  opportunity  of  the  diversion  which 
seemed  to  be  made  in  favour  of  me,  and  laying  down  my  penny 
upon  the  bar,  retired  with  some  precipitation.  C. 

^  Y.  Guardian,  84 — and  Spectator,  268. — C. 


96 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  34. 


No.  34.    MONDAY,  APRIL  9. 

 parcit 

Cognatis  maculis  similis  fera  

Juv.  Sat.  159. 

From  spotted  skins  the  leopard  does  refrain. 

Tate. 

The  club  of  which  I  am  a  memberj  is  very  luckily  composed 
of  such  persons  as  are  engaged  in  diifferent  ways  of  life,  and 
deputed  as  it  were  out  of  the  most  conspicuous  classes  of  man- 
kind :  by  this  means  I  am  furnished  with  the  greatest  variety  of 
hints  and  materials,  and  know  every  thing  that  passes  in  the 
different  quarters  and  divisions,  not  only  of  this  great  city,  but 
of  the  whole  kingdom.  My  readers,  too,  have  the  satisfaction  to 
find,  that  there  is  no  rank  or  degree  among  them  who  have  not 
their  representative  in  this  club,  and  that  there  is  always  some- 
body present  who  will  take  care  of  their  respective  interests,  that 
nothing  may  be  written  or  published  to  the  prejudice  or  infringe- 
ment of  their  just  rights  and  privileges. 

I  last  night  sate  very  late  in  company  with  this  select  body  of 
friends,  who  entertained  me  with  several  remarks  which  they  and 
others  had  made  upon  these  my  speculations,  as  also  with  the 
various  success,  which  they  had  met  with  among  their  several 
ranks  and  degrees  of  readers.  "Will.  Honeycomb  told  me,  in  the 
softest  manner  he  could,  that  there  were  some  ladies  (but  for  your 
comfort,  says  Will,  they  are  not  those  of  the  most  wit)  that  were 
offended  at  the  liberties  I  had  taken  with  the  opera  and  the  pup- 
pet-show ;  that  some  of  them  were  likewise  very  much  surprised, 
that  I  should  think  such  serious  points  as  the  dress  and  equipage 
of  persons  of  quality,  proper  subjects  for  raillery. 

He  was  going  on,  when  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  took  him  up 


No.  84.] 


SPECTATOR. 


97 


short,  and  told  him,  that  the  papers  he  hinted  at  had  done  great 
good  in  the  city,  and  that  all  their  wives  and  daughters  were  the 
better  for  them :  and  further  added,  that  the  whole  city  thought 
themselves  very  much  obliged  to  me  for  declaring  my  generous  in- 
tentions to  scourge  vice  and  folly  as  they  appear  in  a  multitude, 
without  condescending  to  be  a  publisher  of  particular  intrigues 
and  cuckoldoms.  In  short,  says  Sir  Andrew,  if  you  avoid  that 
foolish  beaten  road  of  falling  upon  aldermen  and  citizens,  and 
employ  your  pen  upon  the  vanity  and  luxury  of  courts,  your 
paper  must  needs^be  of  general  use. 

Upon  this  my  friend  the  Templar  told  Sir  Andrew,  That  he 
wondered  to  hear  a  man  of  his  sense  talk  after  that  manner ;  that 
the  city  had  always  been  the  province  for  satire ;  and  that  the 
wits  of  king  Charles's  time  jested  upon  nothing  else  during  his 
whole  reign.  He  then  shewed,  by  the  examples  of  Horace, 
Juvenal,  Boileau,  and  the  best  writers  of  every  age,  that  the  fol- 
lies of  the  stage  and  court  had  never  been  accounted  too  sacred 
for  ridicule,  how  great  soever  the  persons  might  be  that  patron- 
ized them.  But  after  all,  says  he,  I  think  your  raillery  has  made 
too  great  an  excursion,  in  attacking  several  persons  of  the  inns 
of  court ;  and  I  do  not  believe  you  can  shew  me  any  precedent 
for  your  behaviour  in  that  particular. 

My  good  friend  Sir  Koger  de  Coverley,  who  had  said  nothing 

all  this  while,  began  his  speech  with  a  pish !  and  told  us,  that  he 

wondered  to  see  so  many  men  of  sense  so  very  serious  upon 

fooleries.    Let  our  good  friends,  said  he,  attack  every  one  that 

deserves  it :  I  would  only  advise  you,  Mr.  Spectator,  applying 

bbnself  to  me,  to  take  care  how  you  meddle  with  country  squires  . 

tii^j  are  the  ornaments  of  the  English  nation  ;  men  of  good  heads 

and  sound  bodies !  and  let  me  tell  you,  some  of  them  take  it  ill 

of  you,  that  you  mention  foxhunters  with  so  little  respect. 

Captain  Sentry  spoke  very  sparingly  on  this  occasion.  What 
VOL.  V. — 5 


98 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  34. 


he  said  was  only  to  commend  my  prudence  in  not  touching  upon 
the  army,  and  advised  me  to  continue  to  act  discreetly  in  that  point. 

By  this  time  I  found  every  subject  of  my  speculations  was 
taken  away  from  me,  by  one  or  other  of  the  club ;  and  began  to 
think  myself  in  the  condition  of  the  good  man  that  had  one  wife 
who  took  a  dislike  to  his  grey  hairs,  and  another  to  his  black,  till 
by  their  picking  out  what  each  of  them  had  an  aversion  to,  thev 
left  his  head  altogether  bald  and  naked. 

While  I  was  thus  musing  with  myself,  my  worthy  friend  the 
clergyman,  who,  very  luckily  for  me,  was  at  th§  club  that  night, 
undertook  my  cause.  He  told  us,  that  he  wondered  any  order  of 
persons  should  think  themselves  too  considerable  to  be  advised  : 
that  it  was  not  quality,  but  innocence,  which  exempted  men  from 
reproof :  that  vice  and  folly  ought  to  be  attacked  wherever  they 
could  be  met  with,  and  especially  when  they  were  placed  in  high 
and  conspicuous  stations  of  life.  He  further  added,  that  my 
paper  would  'only  serve  to  aggravate  the  pains  of  poverty, 
if  it  chiefly  exposed  those  who  are  already  depressed,  and  in 
some  measure  turned  into  ridicule,  by  the  meanness  of  their 
conditions  and  circumstances.  He  afterwards  proceeded  to  take 
notice  of  the  great  use  this  paper  might  be  to  the  public,  by 
reprehending  those  vices  which  are  too  trivial  for  the  chastise- 
ment of  the  law,  and  too  fantastical  for  the  cognizance  of  the  pul- 
pit. He  then  advised  me  to  prosecute  my  undertaking  with 
cheerfulness,  and  assured  me,  that  whoever  might  be  displeased  with 
nie,  I  should  be  approved  by  all  those  whose  praises  do  honour  to 
the  persons  on  whom  they  are  bestowed. 

The  whole  club  pays  a  particular  deference  to  the  discourse  of 
this  gentleman,  and  are  drawn  into  what  he  says,  as  much  by  the 
candid  ingenious  manner  with  which  he  delivers  himself,  as  by 
the  strength  of  argument  and  force  of  reason  which  he  makes  use 
of.    Will.  Honeycomb  immediately  agreed,  that  what  he  had  said 


No.  34  J 


SPECTATOR. 


99 


was  right ;  and  that  for  his  part,  he  would  not  insist  upon  the 
quarter  which  he  had  demanded  for  the  ladies.  Sir  Andrew  gave 
up  the  city  with  the  same  frankness.  The  Templer  would  not 
stand  out :  and  was  followed  by  Sir  Roger  and  the  Captain  :  who 
all  agreed  that  T  should  be  at  liberty  to  carry  the  war  into  what 
quarter  I  pleased  ;  provided  I  continued  to  combat  with  criminals 
in  a  body,  and  to  assault  the  vice  without  hurting  the  person. 

This  debate,  which  was  held  for  the  good  of  mankind',  put  me 
in  mind  of  that  which  the  Roman  triumvirate  were  formerly  en- 
gaged in,  for  their  destruction.  Every  man  at  first  stood  hard 
for  his  friend,  till  they  found  that  by  this  means  they  should 
spoil  their  proscription  :  and  at  length,  making  a  sacrifice  of  all 
their  acquaintance  and  relations,  furnished  out  a  very  decent 
execution. 

Having  thus  taken  my  resolutions  to  march  on  boldly  in  the 
cause  of  virtue  and  g09d  sense,  and  to  annoy  their  adversaries  in 
whatever  degree  or  rank  of  men  they  may  be  found  :  I  shall  be 
deaf  for  the  future  to  all  the  remonstrances  that  shall  be  made  to 
me  on  this  account.  If  Punch  grows  extravagant,  I  shall  repri- 
mand him  very  freely  :  if  the  stage  becomes  a  nursery  of  folly 
and  impertinence,  I  shall  not  be  afraid  to  animadvert  upon  it. 
In  short,  if  I  meet  with  any  thing  in  city,  court,  or  country,  that 
shocks  modesty  or  good  manners,  I  shall  use  my  utmost  endea- 
vours to  make  an  example  of  it.  I  must,  however,  entreat  every 
particular  person,  who  does  me  the  honour  to  be  a  reader  of  this 
paper,  never  to  think  himself,  or  any  one  of  his  friends  or  enemies, 
aimed  at  in  what  is  said  :  for  I  promise  him,  never  to  draw  a 
faulty  character  which  does  not  fit  at  least  a  thousand  people  ;  or 
to  publish  a  single  paper  that  is  not  written  in  the  spirit  of  bene* 
volence,  and  with  a  love  to  mankind.  0. 


100 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  35 


No.  35.   TUESDAY,  APRIL  10. 

Risu  inepto  res  ineptior  nulla  est. 

Catul.  Carm.  89. 
Nothing  so  foolish  as  the  laugh  of  fools. 

Among  all  kinds  of  writing,  there  is  none  in  which  authors 
are  more  apt  to  miscarry  than  in  works  of  humour,  as  there  is 
none  in  which  they  are  more  ambitious  to  excel.  It  is  not  an 
imagination  that  teems  with  monsters,  an  head  that  is  filled  with 
extravagant  conceptions,  which  is  capable  of  furnishing  the  world 
with  diversions  of  this  nature ;  and  yet  if  we  look  into  the  pro- 
ductions of  several  writers,  who  set  up  for  men  of  humour,  what 
wild  irregular  fancies,  what  unnatural  distortions  of  thought^  do 
we  meet  with  ?  if  they  speak  nonsense,  they  believe  they  are 
talking  humour ;  and  when  they  have  drawn  together  a  scheme 
of  absurd  inconsistent  ideas,  they  are  not  able  to  read  it  over  to 
themselves  without  laughing.  These  poor  gentlemen  endeavour 
to  gain  themselves  the  reputation  of  wits  and  humourists,  by 
such  monstrous  conceits  as  almost  qualify  them  for  Bedlam  ;  not 
considering  that  humour  should  always  lie  under  the  check  of 
reason,  and  that  it  requires  the  direction  of  the  nicest  judgment, 
by  so  much  the  more  as  it  indulges  itself  in  the  most  boundless 
freedoms  There  is  a  kind  of  nature  that  is  to  be  observed  in 
this  sort  of  compositions,  as  well  as  in  all  other ;  and  a  certain 
regularity  of  thought  which  must  discover  the  writer  to  be  a  man 
of  sense,  at  the  same  time  that  he  appears  altogether  given  up  to 
caprice.  For  my  part,  when  I  read  the  delirious  mirth  of  an 
unskilful  author,  I  cannot  be  so  barbarous  as  to  divert  myself 
with  it,  but  am  rather  apt  to  pity  the  man,  than  to  laugh  at  any 
thing  lie  writes. 


No.  35.] 


SPECTATOR. 


101 


The  deceased  Mr.  Shadwell,^  who  had  himself  a  great  deal  of 
the  talent  which  I  am  treating  of,  represents  an  empty  rake,  in 
one  of  his  plays,  as  very  much  surprised  to  hear  one  say  that 
breaking  of  windows  was  not  humour ;  and  I  question  not  but 
several  English  readers  will  be  as  much  startled  to  hear  me 
affirm,  that  many  of  those  raving  incoherent  pieces,  which  are 
often  spread  among  us,  under  odd  chimerical  titles,  are  rather 
the  offsprings  of  a  distempered  brain,  than  works  of  humour. 

It  is  indeed  much  easier  to  describe  what  is  not  humour^  than 
what  is ;  and  very  difficult  to  define  it  otherwise  than  as  Cowley 
has  done  wit,  by  negatives.  Were  I  to  give  my  own  notions  of 
it,  I  would  deliver  them  after  Plato's  manner,  in  a  kind  of  alle- 
gory, and  by  supposing  Humour  to  be  a  person,  deduce  to  him 
all  his  qualifications,  according  to  the  following  genealogy  :  Truth 
was  the  founder  of  the  family,  and  the  father  of  Good  Sense. 
Good  Sense  was  the  father  of  Wit,  who  married  a  lady  of  a  col- 
lateral line  called  Mirth,  by  whom  he  had  issue  Humour.  Hu- 
mour therefore  being  the  youngest  of  this  illustrious  family,  and 
descended  from  parents  of  such  different  dispositions,  is  very 
various  and  unequal  in  his  temper ;  sometimes  you  see  him  put- 
ting on  grave  looks  and  a  solemn  habit,  sometimes  airy  in  his 
behaviour,  and  fantastic  in  his  dress  :  insomuch  that  at  different 
times  he  appears  as  serious  as  a  judge,  and  as  jocular  as  a  merry- 
andrew.  But  as  he  has  a  great  deal  of  the  mother  in  his  consti- 
tution, whatever  mood  he  is  in,  he  never  fails  to  make  his  company 
laugh. 

But  since  there  is  an  impostor  abroad,  who  takes  upon  him 
the  name  of  this  young  gentleman,  and  would  willingly  pass  for 
him  in  the  world ;  to  the  end  that  well-meaning  persons  may  not 

^  Thomas  Shad  well.  Y.  Dry  den's  Mac-Flecknoe. 
"  Shadwell  alone  my  perfect  image  bears, 
Mature  in  dulness  from  his  tender  years,  &c.  Q, 


102 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  36. 


be  imposed  upon  by  cheats,  I  would  desire  my  readers,  when 
they  meet  with  this  pretender,  to  look  into  his  parentage,  and  to 
examine  him  strictly,  whether  or  no  he  be  remotely  allied  to 
Truth,  and  lineally  descended  from  Good  Sense ;  if  not,  they  may  ' 
conclude  him  a  counterfeit.  They  may  likewise  distinguish  him 
by  a  loud  and  excessive  laughter,  in  which  he  seldom  gets  his 
company  to  join  with  him.  For  as  True  Humour  generally  looks 
serious,  while  every  body  laughs  about  him ;  False  Humour  is 
always  laughing,  whilst  every  body  about  him  looks  serious.  I 
shall  only  add,  if  he  has  not  in  him  a  mixture  of  both  parents, 
that  is,  if  he  would  pass  for  the  offspring  of  Wit  without  Mirth, 
or  Mirth  without  Wit,  you  may  conclude  him  to  be  altogether 
spurious  and  a  cheat. 

The  impostor  of  whom  I  am  speaking,  descends  originally 
from  Falsehood,  who  was  the  mother  of  Nonsense,  who  was 
brought  to  bed  of  a  son  called  Frenzy,  who  married  one  of  the 
daughters  of  Folly,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  Laughter, 
on  whom  he  begot  that  monstrous  infant  of  which  I  have  been 
here  speaking.  I  shall  set  down  at  length  the  genealogical  table 
of  False  Humour,  and,  at  the  same  time,  place  under  it  the  genea- 
logy of  True  Humour,  that  the  reader  may  at  one  view  behold 
their  different  pedigrees  and  relations. 

Falsehood.  v 
Nonsense. 

Fuenzy.  Laughter. 

False  Humour. 

Truth. 
Good  Sense. 

Wit.  Mirth. 

Humour. 


I  might  extend  the  allegory,  by  mentioning  several  of  the 


No.  3().] 


SPECTATOR 


103 


children  of  False  Humour,  who  are  more  in  number  than  the  sands 
of  the  sea,  and  might  in  particular  enumerate  the  many  sons  and 
daughters  which  he  has  begot  in  this  island.  But  as  this  would 
be  a  very  invidious  task,  I  shall  only  observe  in  general,  that 
False  Humour  differs  from  the  True,  as  a  monkey  does  from  a 
man. 

First  of  all.  He  is  exceedingly  given  to  little  apish  tricks  and 
buffooneries. 

Secondly,  He  so  much  delights  in  mimicry,  that  it  is  all  one 
to  him  whether  he  exposes  by  it  vice  and  folly,  luxury  and 
avarice  ;  or,  on  the  contrary,  virtue  and  wisdom,  pain  and 
poverty. 

Thirdly,  He  is  wonderfully  unlucky,  insomuch  that  he  will 
bite  the  hand  that  feeds  him,  and  endeavour  to  ridicule  both 
friends  and  foes  indifferently.  For  having  but  small  talents,  he 
must  be  merry  where  he  can^  not  where  he  should. 

Fourthly,  Being  intirely  void  of  reason,  he  pursues  no  point 
either  of  morality  or  instruction,  but  is  ludicrous  only  for  the 
tSake  of  being  so. 

Fifthly,  Being  incapable  of  any  thing  but  mock  representa- 
tions, his  ridicule  is  always  personal,  and  aimed  at  the  vicious 
man,  or  the  writer;  not  at  the  vice,  or  at  the  writing. 

I  have  here  only  pointed  at  the  whole  species  of  false  hu- 
mourists ;  but  as  one  of  my  principal  designs  in  this  paper  is  to 
beat  down  that  malignant  spirit  which  discovers  itself  in  the 
writings  of  the  present  age,  I  shall  not  scruple,  for  the  future, 
to  single  out  any  of  the  small  wits  that  infest  the  world  with  such 
compositions  as  are  ill-natured,  immoral,  and  absurd.  This  is 
the  only  exception  which  I  shall  make  to  the  general  rule  I  have 
prescribed  myself,  of  attacking  multitudes  ;  since  every  honest 
man  ought  to  look  upon  himself  as  in  a  natural  state  of  war  with 
the  libeller  and  lampooner,  and  to  annoy  them  wherever  they 


104 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  37 


fall  in  his  way.  This  is  but  retaliating  upon  them,  and  treating 
them  as  they  treat  others.  C. 


No.  37.    THURSDAY,  APKIL  12. 

 Non  ilia  colo  calathisve  MinervsB 

Fcemineas  assueta  manus  

ViRG.  ^n,  T.  V.  805. 
Unbred  to  spinning,  in  the  loom  unskilVd. 

Dkyden. 

Some  months  ago,  my  friend  Sir  Roger,  being  in  the  country, 
enclosed  a  letter  to  me,  directed  to  a  certain  lady  whom  I  shall 
iiere  call  by  the  name  of  Leonora,'  and,  as  it  contained  matters 
of  consequence,  desired  me  to  deliver  it  to  her  with  my  own 
hand.  Accordingly  I  waited  upon  her  ladyship  pretty  early  in 
the  morning,  and  was  desired  by  her  woman  to  walk  into  her 
lady's  library,  till  such  time  as  she  was  in  a  readiness  to  receive 
me.  The  very  sound  of  a  Lady's  Library  gave  me  a  great  curi- 
osity to  see  it ;  and,  as  it  was  some  time  before  the  lady  came  to 
me,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  turning  over  a  great  many  of  her 
books,  which  were  ranged  together  in  a  very  beautiful  order.  At 
the  end  of  the  folios  (which  were  finely  bound  and  gilt)  were 
great  jars  of  China  placed  one  above  another  in  a  very  noble 
piece  of  architecture.^  The  quartos  were  separated  from  the 
octavos  by  a  pile  of  smaller  vessels,  which  rose  in  a  delightful 
pyramid.  The  octavos  were  bounded  by  tea-dishes  of  all  shapes, 
colours,  and  sizes,  which  were  so  disposed  on  a  wooden  frame, 
that  they  looked  like  one  continued  pillar  indented  with  the 

*  Y.  Js^os.  92,  140,  163,  and  notes  on  Leonora,  and  Miss  Shepheard, 
wnose  name  by  marriage  became  Mrs.  Perry,  the  lady  here  alhided  to. — C. 

Y.  Tatler,  No.  23 ;  Lover,  No.  10,  and  Swift's  Works,  vol.  xxii.  in 
8vo.,  p.  55. — C. 


!^o.  37.] 


SPECTA7  OR. 


105 


finest  strokes  of  sculpture,  and  stained  with  the  greatest  variety 
of  dyes  That  part  of  the  library  which  was  designed  for  the 
reception  of  plays  and  pamphlets,  and  other  loose  papers,  was 
enclosed  in  a  kind  of  square,  consisting  of  one  of  the  prettiest 
grotesque  works  that  ever  I  saw,  and  made  up  of  scaramouches, 
lions,  monkies,  mandarines,  trees,  shells,  and  a  thousand  other 
odd  figures  in  China  ware.  In  the  midst  of  the  room  was  a  little 
Japan  table,  with  a  quire  of  gilt  paper  upon  it,  and  on  the  paper 
a  silver  snuff-box  made  in  the  shape  of  a  little  book.  I  found 
there  were  several  other  counterfeit  books  upon  the  upper  shelves, 
which  were  carved  in  wood,  and  served  only  to  fill  up  the  num- 
bers, like  fagots  in  the  muster  of  a  regiment.  I  was  wonderfully 
pleased  with  such  a  mixt  kind  of  furniture,  as  seemed  very  suit- 
able to  both  the  lady  and  the  scholar,  and  did  not  know  at  first 
whether  I  should  fancy  myself  in  a  grotto,  or  in  a  library. 

Upon  my  looking  into  the  books,  I  found  there  were  some 
few  which  the  lady  had  bought  for  her  own  use,  but  that  most  of 
them  had  been  got  together,  either  because  she  had  heard 
them  praised,  or  because  she  had  seen  the  authors  of  them. 
Among  several  that  I  examined,  I  very  well  remember  these  that 
follow. 

Ogilby's  Virgil. 
Dryden's  Juvenal. 
Cassandra. 
Cleopatra. 
Astraea. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton's  Works. 

The  Grand  Cyrus  ;  with  a  pin  stuck  in  one  of  the  middle 
eaves. 

Pembroke's  Arcadia. 

VOL.     V.  5* 


106 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  37 


Locke  of  Human  Understanding ;  with  a  paper  of  patches 
in  it. 

A  spelling-book. 

A  Dictionary  for  the  explanation  of  hard  words. 

Sherlock  upon  Death. 

The  fifteen  Comforts  of  Matrimony. 

Sir  William  Temple's  Essays. 

Father  Malbranche's  Search  after  Truth,  translated  into 
English. 

A  book  of  Novels. 
The  Academy  of  Compliments. 
Culpepper's  Midwifery. 
The  Ladies'  Calling. 

Tales  in  Yerse  by  Mr.  Durfey  :  bound  in  red  leather,  gilt  on 
the  back,  and  doubled  down  in  several  places. 
All  the  Classic  Authors,  in  wood. 
A  set  of  Elzivir's,  by  the  same  hand. 

Clelia  :  which  opened  of  itself  in  the  place  that  describes  two 
lovers  in  a  bower. 
Baker's  Chronicle. 
Advice  to  a  Daughter. 
The  new  Atalantis,  with  a  Key  to  it. 
Mr.  Steele's  Christian  Hero. 

A  Prayer-book ;  with  a  bottle  of  Hungary  water  by  the  side 
of  it. 

Dr.  Sacheverell's  Speech. 

Fielding's  Trial. 

Seneca's  Morals. 

Taylor's  holy  Living  and  Dying. 

La  Ferte's  Instructions  for  Country  Dances. 


I  w^-S  taking  a  catalogue  in  my  pocket-book  of  these,  and 


No.  37.] 


SPECTATOR. 


107 


several  other  authors,  when  Leonora  entered,  and,  upon  my  pre- 
senting her  with  the  letter  from  the  Knight,  told  me,  with  an  un- 
speakable grace,  that  she  hoped  Sir  Roger  was  in  good  health.  I 
answered  yes  ;  for  I  hate  long  speeches,  and  after  a  bow  or  two 
retired. 

Leonora  was  formerly  a  celebrated  beauty,  and  is  still  a  very 
lovely  woman.  She  has  been  a  widow  for  two  or  three  years, 
and  being  unfortunate  in  her  first  marriage,  has  taken  a  resolu- 
tion never  to  venture  upon  a  second.  She  has  no  children  to 
take  care  of,  and  leaves  the  management  of  her  estate  to  my  good 
friend  Sir  Roger.  But  as  the  mind  naturally  sinks  into  a  kind  of 
lethargy,  and  falls  asleep,  that  is  not  agitated  by  some  favourite 
pleasures  and  pursuits,  Leonora  has  turned  all  the  passions  of 
her  sex,  into  a  love  of  books  and  retirement.  She  converses 
chiefly  with  men,  (as  she  has  often  said  herself,)  but  it  is  only  in 
their  writings  ;  and  admits  of  very  few  male-visitants,  except  my 
friend  Sir  Roger,  whom  she  hears  with  great  pleasure,  and  with- 
out scandal.  As  her  reading  has  lain  very  much  among  ro- 
mances, it  has  given  her  a  very  particular  turn  of  thinking,  and 
discovers  itself  even  in  her  house,  her  gardens,  and  her  furni- 
ture. Sir  Roger  has  entertained  me  an  hour  together  with  a  de- 
scription of  her  country-seat,  which  is  situated  in  a  kind  of  wil- 
derness, about  an  hundred  miles  distant  from  London,  and  looks 
like  a  little  enchanted  palace.  The  rocks  about  her  are  shaped 
into  artificial  grottoes,  covered  with  wood-bines  and  jessamines. 
The  woods  are  cut  into  shady  walks,  twisted  into  bowers,  and 
filled  with  cages  of  turtles.  The  springs  are  made  to  run  among 
pebbles,  and  by  that  means  taught  to  murmur  very  agreeably. 
They  are  likewise  collected  into  a  beautiful  lake,  that  is  inhab- 
ited by  a  couple  of  swans,  and  empties  itself  by  a  little  rivulet 
which  runs  through  a  green  meadow,  and  is  known  in  the  family 
by  the  name  of  The  Purling  Stream.    The  Knight  likewise  tells 


108 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  37 


me,  that  this  lady  preserves  her  game  better  than  any  of  the  gen- 
tlemen in  the  country.  ^  Not  (says  Sir  Koger)  that  she  sets  so 
great  a  value  upon  her  partridges  and  pheasants,  as  upon  her 
larks  and  nightingales.  For  she  says  that  every  bird  which  is 
killed  in  her  ground,  will  spoil  a  concert,  and  that  she  shall  cer- 
tainly miss  him  the  next  year.' 

When  I  think  how  oddly  this  lady  is  improved  by  learning,  I 
look  upon  her  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and  pity.  Amidst 
these  innocent  entertainments  which  she  has  formed  to  herself, 
how  much  more  valuable  does  she  appear  than  those  of  her  sex, 
who  employ  themselves  in  diversions  that  are  less  reasonable, 
though  more  in  fashion !  What  improvements  would  a  woman 
have  made,  who  is  so  susceptible  of  impressions  from  what  she 
reads,  had  she  been  guided  to  such  books  as  have  a  tendency  to 
enlighten  the  understanding  and  rectify  the  passions,  as  well  as 
to  those  which  are  of  little  more  use  than  to  divert  the  imagina- 
tion ! 

But  the  manner  of  a  lady's  employing  herself  usefully  in  read- 
ing shall  be  the  subject  of  another  paper,  in  which  I  design  to 
recommend  such  particular  books  as  may  be  proper  for  the  im- 
provement of  the  sex.  And  as  this  is  a  subject  of  a  very  nice 
nature,  I  shall  desire  my  correspondents  to  give  me  their  thoughts 
upon  it.  C. 


No.  39.] 


SPECTATOR. 


109 


No.  39.    SATURDAY,  APRIL  14. 

Multa  fero,  ut  placem  genus  irritabile  vatum, 

Cum  scribo  

HoR.  11.  E  p.  2. 102. 

IMITATED. 

Much  do  I  suffer,  much  to  keep  in  peace 

This  jealous,  waspish,  wrong-head,  rhynaing  race. 

Pope. 

As  a  perfect  tragedy  is  the  noblest  production  of  human  nature, 
so  it  is  capable  of  giving  the  mind  one  of  the  most  delightful  and 
most  improving  entertainments.  '  A  virtuous  maji  (says  Seneca) 
struggling  with  misfortunes,  is  such  a  spectacle  as  gods  might 
look  upon  with  pleasure  and  such  a  pleasure  it  is  which  one 
meets  with  in  the  representation  of  a  well-written  tragedy.  Di- 
versions of  this  kind  wear  out  of  our  thoughts  every  thing  that 
is  mean  and  little.  They  cherish  and  cultivate  that  humanity 
which  is  the  ornament  of  our  nature.  They  soften  insolence, 
soothe  affliction,  and  subdue  the  mind  to  the  dispensations  of  Pro- 
vidence. 

It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  in  all  the  polite  nations  of  the 
world,  this  part  of  the  drama  has  met  with  public  encouragement. 

The  modern  tragedy  excels  that  of  Greece  and  Home,  in  the 
intricacy  and  disposition  of  the  fable  :  but,  what  a  Christian 
writer  would  be  ashamed  to  own,  falls  infinitely  short  of  it  in  the 
moral  part  of  the  performance. 

This  I  may  shew  more  at  large  hereafter ;  and  in  the  mean 
time,  that  I  may  contribute  something  towards  the  improvement 
of  the  English  tragedy,  I  shall  take  notice,  in  this,  and  in  other 
following  papers,  of  some  particular  parts  in  it  that  seem  liable 
to  exception. 

Aristotle  observes,  that  the  Iambic  verse  in  the  Greek  tongue 
was  the  most  proper  for  tragedy ;  because  at  the  same  time  that 
it  lifted  up  the  discourse  from  prose,  it  was  that  which  approached 


110 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  39. 


nearer  to  it  than  any  other  kind  of  verse.  *  For,  (says  he,)  we  may 
observe  that  men  in  ordinary  discourse  very  often  speak  Iambics^ 
without  taking  notice  of  it.'  We  may  make  the  same  observation 
of  our  English  blank  verse,  which  often  enters  into  our  common 
discourse,  though  we  do  not  attend  to  it,  and  is  such  a  due  me- 
dium between  rhyme  and  prose,  that  it  seems  wonderfully  adapted 
to  tragedy.  I  am  therefore  very  much  offended  when  I  see  a  play 
in  rhyme  ;  which  is  as  absurd  in  English,  as  a  tragedy  of  Hexam- 
eters would  have  been  in  Greek  or  Latin.  The  solecism  is,  I 
think,  still  greater  in  those  plays  that  have  some  scenes  in  rhyme, 
and  some  in  blank  verse,  which  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  two  sev- 
eral languages  ;  or  where  we  see  some  particular  similies  dignified 
with  rhyme,  at  the  same  time  that  every  thing  about  them  lies  ic. 
blank  verse.  I  would  not,  however,  debar  the  poet  from  concluding 
his  tragedy,  or,  if  he  pleases,  every  act  of  it,  with  two  or  three  coup- 
lets, which  may  have  the  same  effect  as  an  air  in  the  Italian  opera 
after  a  long  recitativo^  and  give  the  actor  a  graceful  exit.  Be- 
sides that  we  see  a  diversity  of  numbers  in  some  parts  of  the  old 
tragedy,  in  order  to  hinder  the  ear  from  being  tired  with  the  same 
continued  modulation  of  voice.  For  the  same  reason  I  do  not 
dislike  the  speeches  in  our  English  tragedy  that  close  with  an 
hemisticj  or  half  verse,  notwithstanding  the  person  who  speaks 
after  it  begins  a  new  verse,  without  filling  up  the  preceding  one  ; 
nor  with  abrupt  pauses  and  breakings  off  in  the  middle  of  a  verse, 
when  they  humour  any  passion  that  is  expressed  by  it. 

Since  I  am  upon  this  subject,  I  must  observe,  that  our  Eng- 
lish poets  have  succeeded  much  better  in  the  style  than  in  the 
sentiments  of  their  tragedies.  Their  language  is  very  often  noble 
and  sonorous,  but  the  sense  either  very  trifling,  or  very  common. 
On  the  contrary,  in  the  ancient  tragedies,  and  indeed  in  those  of 
Corneille  and  Racine,  though  the  expressions  are  very  great,  it 
is  the  thought  that  bears  them  up  and  swells  them.    For  m^ 


No.  39.] 


SPECTATOR. 


Ill 


own  partj  I  prefer  a  noble  sentiment  that  is  depressed  with  homely 
language,  infinitely  before  a  vulgar  one  that  is  blown  up  with  all 
the  sound  and  energy  of  expression.  Whether  this  defect  in  our 
tragedies  may  arise  from  want  of  genius,  knowledge,  or  experi. 
ence  in  the  writers,  or  from  their  compliance  with  the  vicious 
taste  of  their  readers,  who  are  better  judges  of  the  language  than 
of  the  sentiments,  and  consequently  relish  the  one  more  than  the 
other,  I  cannot  determine.  But  I  believe  it  might  rectify  the 
conduct  both  of  the  one  and  of  the  other,  if  the  writer  laid  down 
the  whole  contexture  of  his  dialogue  in  plain  English,  before  he 
turned  it  into  blank  verse  ;  and  if  the  reader,  after  the  perusal 
of  a  scene,  would  consider  the  naked  thought  of  every  speech  in 
it,  when  divested  of  all  its  tragic  ornaments ;  by  this  means, 
without  being  imposed  upon  by  words,  we  may  judge  impartially 
of  the  thought,  and  consider  whether  it  be  natural  or  great 
enough  for  the  person  that  utters  it,  whether  it  deserves  to  shine 
in  such  a  blaze  of  eloquence,  or  shew  itself  in  such  a  variety  of 
lights  as  are  generally  made  use  of  by  the  writers  of  our  English 
tragedy. 

T  must  in  the  next  place  observe,  that  when  our  thoughts  are 
great  and  just,  they  are  often  obscured  by  the  sounding  phrases, 
hard  metaphors,  and  forced  expressions  in  which  they  are  cloathed. 
Shakespear  is  often  very  faulty  in  this  particular.  There  is  a 
fine  observation  in  Aristotle  to  this  purpose,  which  I  have  never 
seen  quoted.  '  The  expression  (says  he)  ought  to  be  very  much 
laboured  in  the  unactive  parts  of  the  fable,  as  in  descriptions, 
similitudes,  narrations,  and  the  like  :  in  which  the  opinions, 
manners,  and  passions  of  men  are  not  represented  ;  for  these 
(namely,  the  opinions,  manners,  and  passions)  are  apt  to  be  obscured 
by  pompous  phrases,  and  elaborate  expressions.'  Horace,  who 
copied  most  of  his  criticisms  after  Aristotle,  seems  to  have  had 
his  eye  on  the  foregoing  rule,  in  the  following  verses  : 


112 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  39. 


Et  tragicus  plerumque  dolet  sermone  pedestri. 
Teleplius  et  Peleus,  cum  pauper  et  exul  uterque, 
Projicit  ampuilas  et  sesquipedalia  verba, 
Si  curat  cor  spectantis  tetigisse  querela.. 

Ars.  Poet.  v.  95. 

Tragedians  too  lay  by  their  state,  to  grieve. 
Peleus  and  Telephus,  exil'd  and  poor. 
Forget  their  swelling  and  gigantic  words. 

Ld.  Roscommon. 

Among  our  modern  English  poets,  there  is  none  who  was 
better  turned  for  tragedy  than  Lee ;  if,  instead  of  favouring  the 
impetuosity  of  his  genius,  he  had  restrained  it,  and  kept  it  within 
its  proper  bounds.  His  thoughts  are  wonderfully  suited  to  tragedy, 
but  frequently  lost  in  such  a  cloud  of  words,  that  it  is  hard  to 
see  the  beauty  of  them :  there  is  an  infinite  fire  in  his  works,  but 
so  involved  in  smoke,  that  it  does  not  appear  in  half  its  lustre. 
He  frequently  succeeds  in  the  passionate  parts  of  the  tragedy, 
but  more  particularly  where  he  slackens  his  efi'orts,  and  eases  the 
style  of  those  epithets  and  metaphors,  in  which  he  so  much 
abounds.  What  can  be  more  natural,  more  soft,  or  more  passion- 
ate, than  that  line  in  Statira's  speech,^  where  she  describes  the 
charms  of  Alexander's  conversation  ? 

Then  he  would  talk :  Good  Gods !  how  he  would  talk  1 

That  unexpected  break  in  the  line,  and  turning  the  descrip- 
tion of  his  manner  of  talking  into  an  admiration  of  it,  is  inex- 
pressibly beautiful,  and  wonderfully  suited  to  the  fond  character 
of  the  person  that  speaks  it.  There  is  a  simplicity  in  the  words, 
that  outshines  the  utmost  pride  of  expression. 

Otway  has  followed  nature  in  the  language  of  his  tragedy, 
and  therefore  shines  in  the  passionate  parts,  more  than  any  of 
our  English  poets.    As  there  is  something  familiar  and  domestic 

^  The  Rival  Queens,  Act  I.    Some  editions  read — will  for  would. — G. 


'N'o.  39.] 


SPECTATOR. 


113 


in  the  fable  of  his  tragedy,  more  than  in  those  of  any  other  poet, 
he  has  little  pomp,  but  great  force  in  his  expressions.  For  which 
reason,  though  he  has  admirably  succeeded  in  the  tender  and 
melting  part  of  his  tragedies,  he  sometimes  falls  into  too  great  a 
familiarity  of  phrase  in  those  parts,  which,  by  Aristotle's  rule^ 
ought  to  have  been  raised  and  supported  by  the  dignity  of  ex- 
pression. 

It  has  been  observed  by  others,  that  this  poet  has  founded 
his  tragedy  of  Venice  Preserved  on  so  wrong  a  plot,  that  the 
greatest  characters  in  it  are  those  of  rebels  and  traitors.  Had 
the  hero  of  his  play  discovered  the  same  good  qualities  in  the 
defence  of  his  country,  that  he  shewed  for  its  ruin  and  subver- 
sion, the  audience  could  not  enough  pity  and  admire  him :  but  as 
he  is  now  represented,  we  can  only  say  of  him  what  the  Koman 
historian  says  of  Catiline,  that  his  fall  would  have  been  glorious 
(si  pro  putrid  sic  concidisset)  had  he  so  fallen  in  the  service  of 
his  country.*  C. 

^  This,  and  the  four  following  critical  papers,  are  very  judicious,  and 
extremely  well  written, — H, 


114 


SPECTATOR. 


LNo.  40 


No.  40.— MONDAY,  APRIL  16. 

Ac  ne  forte  putes  me,  qufe  facere  ipse  recusem, 

Cum  recte  tractant  alii,  laudare  maligne; 

Ille  per  extentuin  funem  mihi  posse  videtur 

Ire  Poeta,  meum  qui  pectus  inaniter  angit, 

Irritat,  mulcet,  falsis  terroribus  irnplet, 

Ut  Magus ;  et  modo  me  Thebis,  modo  ponit  Athenis. 

HoK.  2.  Ep.  1.  p.  208. 

Imitated. 

Yet  lest  you  think  I  really  more  than  teach, 
Or  praise  malignly  arts  I  cannot  reach, 
Let  me  for  once  presume  t'  instruct  the  times, 
To  know  the  poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes. 
'Tis  he  who  gives  my  breast  a  thousand  pains, 
Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  he  feigns; 
Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art, 
With  pity,  and  with  terror,  tear  my  heart ; 
And  snatch  me  o'er  the  earth,  or  through  the  air, 
To  Thebes,  to  Athens ;  when  he  will,  and  where. 

Pope. 

The  English  writers  of  tragedy  are  possessed  with  a  notion, 
that  when  they  represent  a  virtuous  or  innocent  person  in  dis- 
tress, they  ought  not  to  leave  him  till,  they  have  delivered  him 
out  of  his  troubles,  or  made  him  triumph  over  his  enemies. 
This  error  they  have  been  led  into  by  a  ridiculous  doctrine  in 
modern  criticism,  that  they  are  obliged  to  an  equal  distribution 
of  rewards  and  punishments,  and  an  impartial  execution  of  poeti- 
cal justice.^  Who  were  the  first  that  established  this  rule  I 
know  not ;  but  I  am  sure  it  has  no  foundation  in  nature,  in 
reason,  or  in  the  practice  of  the  ancients.  We  find  that  good 
and  evil  happen  alike  to  all  men  on  this  side  the  grave ;  and  as 
the  principal  design  of  tragedy  is  to  raise  commiseration  and 
terror  in  the  minds  of  the  audience,  we  shall  defeat  this  great 
end,  if  we  always  make  virtue  and  innocence  happy  and  success- 
ful. Whatever  crosses  and  disappointments  a  good  man  sufi*ers 
in  the  body  of  the  tragedy,  they  will  make  but  small  impression 

1  V.  Original  Letters,  familiar,  moral,  and  critical,  by  M.  J.  Dennis;  2 
vols.  8  vo.  1721,  p.  401.— C. 


ISTo.  40.] 


SPECTATOR. 


115 


on  our  minds^  when  we  know  that  in  the  last  act  he  is  to  arrive 
at  the  end  of  his  wishes  and  desires.  When  we  see  him  engaged 
in  the  depth  of  his  afflictions,  we  are  apt  to  comfort  ourselves, 
because  we  are  sure  he  will  find  his  way  out  of  them ;  and  that 
his  grief,  how  great  soever  it  may  be  at  present,  will  soon  termi- 
nate in  gladness.  For  this  reason  the  ancient  writers  of  tragedy 
treated  men  in  their  plays  as  they  are  dealt  with  in  the  world, 
by  making  virtue  sometimes  happy,  and  sometimes  miserable,  as 
they  found  it  in  the  fable  which  they  made  choice  of,  or  as  it 
might  affect  their  audience  in  the  most  agreeable  manner.^  Aris- 
totle considers  the  tragedies  that  were  written  in  either  of  these 
kinds,  and  observes,  that  those  which  ended  unhappily,  had 
always  pleased  the  people,  and  carried  away  the  prize  in  the  pub- 
lic disputes  of  the  stage,  from  those  that  ended  happily.  Terror 
and  commiseration  leave  a  pleasing  anguish  in  the  mind ;  and 
fix  the  audience  in  such  a  serious  composure  of  thought,  as  is 
much  more  lasting  and  delightful  than  any  little  transient  starts 
of  joy  and  satisfaction.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  more  of  our 
English  tragedies  have  succeeded,  in  which  the  favourites  of  the 
audience  sink  under  their  calamities,  than  those  in  which  they 
recover  themselves  out  of  them.  The  best  plays  of  this  kind 
are  the  Orphan,  Venice  Preserved,  Alexander  the  Great,  Theo- 
dosius.  All  for  Love,  (Edipus,  Oroonoko,  Othello,  &c.  King 
Lear  is  an  admirable  tragedy  of  the  same  kind,  as  Shakespear 
wrote  it ;  but  as  it  is  reformed  according  to  the  chimerical  notion 
of  poetical  justice,  in  my  humble  opinion  it  has  lost  half  its 
beauty.    At  the  same  time  I  must  allow,  that  there  are  very 

^  The  application  of  this  principle  in  'Cato,'  is  one  of  the  grounds  of 
Dennis's  severe  attack  upon  that  play, — "  It  is  certainly,"  he  says,  "  the 
duty  of  every  tragic-poet,  by  the  exact  distribution  of  poetical  justice, 
to  imitate  the  divine  dispensation;  and  to  inculcate  a  particular  provi- 
dence."~-a 


116 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  40 


noble  tragedies,  which  have  been  framed  upon  the  other  plan, 
and  have  ended  happily ;  as  indeed  most  of  the  good  tragedies, 
which  have  been  written  since  the  starting  of  the  abovementioned 
criticism,  have  taken  this  turn ;  as  the  Mourning  Bride,  Tamer- 
lane, Ulysses,  Phaedra  and  Hippolytus,  with  most  of  Mr.  Dry- 
den's.  I  must  also  allow,  that  many  of  Shakespear's,  and  several 
of  the  celebrated  tragedies  of  antiquity,  are  cast  in  the  same 
form.  I  do  not  therefore  ^ispute  against  this  way  of  writing 
tragedies,  but  against  the  criticism  that  would  establish  this  as 
the  only  method ;  and  by  that  means  would  very  much  cramp  the 
English  tragedy,  and  perhaps  give  a  wrong  bent  to  the  genius  of 
our  writers. 

The  tragi-comedy,  which  is  the  product  of  the  English  thea- 
tre^ is  one  of  the  most  monstrous  inventions  that  ever  entered 
into  a  poet's  thoughts.  An  author  might  as  well  think  of  weav- 
ing the  adventures  of  ^neas  and  Hudibras  into  one  poem,  as  of 
writing  such  a  motley  piece  of  mirth  and  sorrow.  But  the  ab- 
surdity of  these  performances  is  so  very  visible,  that  I  shall  not 
insist  upon  it. 

The  same  objections  which  are  made  to  tragi-comedy,  may  in 
some  measure  be  applied  to  all  tragedies  that  have  a  double  plot 
in  them;  which  are  likewise  more  frequent  upon  the  English 
stage,  than  upon  any  other :  for  though  the  grief  of  the  audience, 
in  such  performances,  be  not  changed  into  another  passion,  as  in 
tragi  comedies,  it  is  diverted  upon  another  object,  which  weakens 
their  concern  for  the  principal  action,  and  breaks  the  tide  of 
sorrow,  by  throwing  it  into  different  channels.  This  inconve- 
nience, however,  may  in  a  great  measure  be  cured,  if  not  wholly 
removed,  by  the  skilful  choice  of  an  under-plot,  which  may  bear 
such  a  near  relation  to  the  principal  design,  as  to  contribute  to- 
wards the  completion  of  it,  and  be  concluded  by  the  same  catas- 
trophe. 


No.  40.] 


SPECTATOR. 


117 


There  is  also  another  particular,  which  may  be  reckoned 
among  the  blemishes,  or  rather  the  false  beauties,  of  our  English 
tragedy :  I  mean  those  particular  speeches  which  are  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  rants.  The  warm  and  passionate  parts 
of  a  tragedy  are  always  the  most  taking  with  the  audience ;  for 
which  reason  we  often  see  the  players  pronouncing,  in  all  the 
violence  of  action,  several  parts  of  the  tragedy  which  the  author 
writ  with  great  temper,  and  designed  that  they  should  have  been 
so  acted.  I  have  seen  PowelP  very  often  raise  himself  a  loud 
clap  by  this  artifice.  The  poets  thafc  were  acquainted  with  this 
secret,  have  given  frequent  occasion  for  such  emotions  in  the 
actor,  by  adding  vehemence  to  words  where  there  was  no  passion, 
or  inflaming  ^  a  real  passion  into  fustian.  This  hath  filled  the 
mouths  of  our  heroes  with  bombast ;  and  given  them  such  senti- 
ments, as  proceed  rather  from  a  swelling  than  a  greatness  of 
mind.  Unnatural  exclamations,  curses,  vows,  blasphemies,  a 
defiance  of  mankind,  and  an  outraging  of  the  gods,  frequently 
pass  upon  the  audience  for  towering  thoughts,  and  have  accord- 
ingly met  with  infinite  applause. 

I  shall  here  add  a  remark,  which  I  am  afraid  our  tragic  wri- 
ters may  make  an  ill  use  of.  As  our  heroes  are  generally  lovers, 
their  swelling  and  blustering  upon  the  stage  very  much  recom- 
mends them  to  the  fair  part  of  their  audience.  The  ladies  are 
wonderfully  pleased  to  see  a  man  insulting  kings,  or  aff'ronting 
the  gods,  in  one  scene,  and  throwing  himself  at  the  feet  of  his 
mistress  in  another.  Let  him  behave  himself  insolently  towards 
the  men,  and  abjectly  towards  the  fair  one,  and  it  is  ten  to 
one  but  he  proves  a  favorite  of  the  boxes.    Dryden  and  Lee,  in 

1  Powell  wrote  five  plays,  all  of  which  were  successful;  but  tovvards 
!:.he  end  of  his  life,  lost  by  intemperance  the  position  he  had  won  for  him- 
df  by  his  talents.    He  died  in  1714.— G. 

Inflaming.    1  should  prefer  stiffening,  in  this  place,  to  inflaming. — H. 


118 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  40 


several  of  their  tragedies,  have  practised  this  secret  with  good 
success. 

But  to  sliuvv  how  a  o'ant  pleases  beyond  the  raost  just  and 
natural  thought  that  is  not  pronounced  with  vehemence,  I  would 
desire  the  reader,  when  he  sees  the  tragedy  of  CEdipus,  to  observe 
how  quietly  the  hero  is  dismissed  at  the  end  of  the  third  act, 
after  having  pronounced  the  following  lines,  in  which  the  thought 
is  very  natural,  and  apt  to  move  compassion. 

To  you,  good  gods,  1  make  my  last  appeal ; 

Or  clear  my  virtues,  or  my  crimes  reveal. 

If  in  the  maze  of  fate  I  blindly  run, 

And  backward  trod  those  paths  I  sought  to  shun, 

Impute  my  errors  to  your  own  decree  : 

My  hands  are  guilty,  but  my  heart  is  free. 

Let  us  then  observe  with  what  thunder-claps  of  applause  he 
leaves  the  stage,  after  the  impieties  and  execrations  at  the  end  of 
the  fourth  act ;  and  you  will  wonder  to  see  an  audience  so  cursed, 
and  so  pleased  at  the  same  time. 

0  that  as  oft  I  have  at  Athens  seen 

[  Where^  by  the  way^  there  was  no  stage  till  many  years  after 
CEdipus.] 

The  stage  arise,  and  the  big  clouds  descend; 
So  now,  in  very  deed,  I  might  behold 
This  pond'rous  globe,  and  all  yon  marble  roof, 
Meet  like  the  hands  of  Jove,  and  crush  mankind, 
For  all  the  elements,  (fee. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 
Having  spoken  of  Mr.  Powell,  as  sometimes  raising  himself  ap- 
plause from  the  ill  taste  of  an  audience ;  I  must  do  him  the 
justice  to  own,  that  he  is  excellently  formed  for  a  tragedian, 
and  when  he  pleases,  deserves  the  admiration  of  the  best  judges ; 
as  I  doubt  not  but  he  will  in  the  Conquest  of  Mexico,  which 
is  acted  for  his  own  benefit  to-morrow  night. — C. 


No.  42.] 


SPECTATOR. 


119 


No.  42.    WEDNESDAY,  APRIL  18. 

Garganum  mugire  putes  nemns  aut  marc  Tliuscum, 
Tanto  cum  strepitu  ludi  spectantur,  et  artes, 
Divitiseque  peregrinfB  ;  quibus  oblitus  actor 
Cum  stetit  in  scena,  concurrit  dextera  Isevse. 
Dixit  adhuc  aliquid  ?   Nil  sane.    Quid  placet  ergo? 
Lana  Tareutino  violas  imitato  veneno. 

HoR.  2  Ep.  1.  202. 

IMITATED. 

Loud  as  the  wolves  on  Orca's  stormy  steep 
Howl  to  the  roarings  of  the  northern  deep : 
Such  is  the  shout,  the  long  applauding  note, 
At  Quin's  high  plume,  or  Oldfield's  petticoat ; 
Or  when  from  court  a  birth-day  suit  bestow'd, 
Sinks  the  lost  actor  in  the  tawdry  load, 

Booth  enters — hark!  the  universal  peal  I  

But  has  he  spoken  ? — Not  a  syllable  

What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  people  stare, — 
Cato's  long  wig,  flowT'd  gown,  and  lacquer'd  chair. 

Pope. 

Aristotle  has  observed,  that  ordinary  writers  in  tragedy  endea- 
vour to  raise  terror  and  pity  in  their  audience,  not  by  proper 
sentiments  and  expressions,  but  by  the  dresses  and  decorations 
of  the  stage.  There  is  something  of  this  kind  very  ridiculous  in 
the  English  theatre.  When  the  author  has  a  mind  to  terrify  us, 
it  thunders  ;  when  he  would  make  us  melancholy,  the  stage  is 
darkened.  But  among  all  our  tragic  artifices,  I  am  the  most 
offended  at  those  which  are  made  use  of  to  inspire  us  with 
magnificent  ideas  of  the  persons  that  speak.''  The  ordinary 
method  of  making  an  hero,  is  to  clap  a  huge  plume  of  feathers 
upon  his  head,  which  rises  so  very  high,  that  there  is  often  a 
greater  length  from  his  chin  to  the  top  of  his  head,  than  to  the 
sole  of  his  foot.  One  would  believe,  that  we  thought  a  great 
man  and  a  tall  man  the  same  thing.  This  very  much  embar- 
rasses the  actor,  who  is  forced  to  hold  his  neck  extremely  stiff 

Persons  that  speak.  Flat,  and,  at  the  same  time,  inaccurate : — which 
—that—U. 


120 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  9. 


and  steady  all  the  while  he  speaks;  and  notwithstanding  any 
anxieties  which  he  pretends  for  his  mistress,  his  country,  or  his 
friends,  one  may  see  by  his  action,  that  his  greatest  care  and 
concern  is  to  keep  the  plume  of  feathers  from  failing  off  his  head. 
For  my  own  part,  when  I  see  a  man  uttering  his  complaints 
under  such  a  mountain  of  feathers,  I  am  apt  to  look  upon  him 
rather  as  an  unfortunate  lunatic,  than  a  distressed  hero.  As 
these  superfluous  ornaments  upon  the  head  make  a  great  man,  a 
princess  generally  receives  her  grandeur  from  those  additional 
incumbrances  that  fall  into  her  tail  :  I  mean  the  broad  sweeping 
train  that  follows  her  in  all  her  motions,  and  finds  constant  em- 
ployment for  a  boy  who  stands  behind  her  to  open  and  spread  it 
to  advantage.  I  do  not  know  how  others  are  affected  at  this 
sight,  but  I  must  confess,  my  eyes  are  wholly  taken  up  with  the 
page's  part ;  and  as  for  the  queen,  I  am  not  so  attentive  to  an}^ 
thing  she  speaks,  as  to  the  right  adjusting  of  her  train,  lest  it 
should  chance  to  trip  up  her  heels,  or  incommode  her,  as  she 
walks  to  and  fro  upon  the  stage.  It  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  ver}^  odd 
spectacle,  to  see  a  queen  venting  her  passion  in  a  disordered  mo- 
tion, and  a  little  boy  taking  care  all  the  while  that  they  do  not 
ruffle  the  tail  of  her  gown.  The  parts  that  the  two  persons  act 
on  the  stage  at  the  same  time,  are  very  different :  the  princess  is 
afraid  lest  she  should  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  king  her  father, 
or  lose  the  hero  her  lover,  whilst  her  attendant  is  only  concerned 
lest  she  should  entangle  her  feet  in  her  petticoat. 

We  are  told,  that  an  ancient  tragic  poet,  to  move  the  pity  of 
his  audience  for  his  exiled  kings  and  distressed  heroes,  used  to 
make  the  actors  represent  them  in  dresses  and  clothes  that  were 
threadbare  and  decayed.  This  artifice  for  moving  pity,  seems  as 
ill-contrived  as  that  we  have  been  speaking  of,  to  inspire  us  with 
a  great  idea  of  the  persons  introduced  upon  the  stage.  In  short, 
T  would  have  our  conceptions  raised  by  the  dignity  of  thought 


No.  42.] 


SPECTAIOR. 


121 


and  sublimity  of  expression,  rather  than  by  a  train  of  robes,  or  a 
plume  of  feathers. 

Another  mechanical  method  of  making  great  men,  and  adding 
dignity  to  kings  and  queens,  is  to  accompany  them  with  halberts 
and  battle-axes.  Two  or  three  shifters  of  scenes,  with  the  two 
candle-snufiFers,  make  up  a  complete  body  of  guards  upon  the 
English  stage ;  and,  by  the  addition  of  a  few  porters  dressed  in 
red  coats,  can  represent  above  a  dozen  legions.  I  have  sometimes 
seen  a  couple  of  armies  drawn  up  together  upon  the  stage,  when 
the  poet  has  been  disposed  to  do  honour  to  his  generals.  It  is 
impossible  for  the  reader's  imagination  to  multiply  twenty  men 
into  such  prodigious  multitudes,  or  to  fancy  that  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  soldiers  are  fighting  in  a  room  of  forty  or  fifty 
yards  in  compass.  Incidents  of  such  nature  should  be  told,  not 
represented. 

 Non  tamen  intiis 

Digna  geri  promes  in  scenam  :  multaque  tolles 
Ex  oculis,  quae  mox  narret  facundia  praesens. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet.  182. 

Yet  there  are  things  improper  for  a  scene, 
Which  men  of  judgment  only  will  relate. 

Ld.  Roscommon. 

I  should  therefore,  in  this  particular,  recommend  to  my  coun- 
trymen the  example  of  the  French  stage,  where  the  kings  and 
queens  always  appear  unattended,  and  leave  their  guards  behind 
the  scenes.  I  should  likewise  be  glad  if  we  imitated  the  French 
in  banishing  from  our  stage  the  noise  of  drums,  trumpets,  and 
huzzas;  which  is  sometimes  so  very  great,  that  when  there  is  a 
battle  in  the  Hay- Market  theatre,  one  may  hear  it  as  far  as 
Charing-Cross. 

I  have  here  only^touched  upon  those  particulars  which  are 
made  use  of  to  raise  and  aggrandize  the  persons  of  a  tragedy ;  and 

VOL.    V. — G 


122 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  42 


shall  shew  in  another  paper  the  several  expedients  which  are 
practised  by  authors  of  a  vulgar  genius,  to  move  terror,  pity,  or 
admiration,  in  their  hearers. 

The  tailor  and  the  painter  often  contribute  to  the  success  of 
a  tragedy  more  than  the  poet.  Scenes  affect  ordinary  minds  as 
much  as  speeches ;  and  our  actors  are  very  sensible,  that  a  well- 
dressed  play  has  sometimes  brought  them  as  full  audiences,  as  a 
well-written  one.  The  Italians  have  a  very  good  phrase  to  ex- 
press this  art  of  imposing  upon  the  spectators  by  appearances  : 
they  call  it  the  Furberia  della  scena^  '  The  knavery  or  trickish 
part  of  the  drama.'  But  however  the  show  and  outside  of  the 
tragedy  may  work  upon  the  vulgar,  the  more  understanding  part 
of  the  audience  immediately  see  through  it,  and  despise  it. 

A  good  poet  will  give  the  reader  a  more  lively  idea  of  an 
army  or  a  battle  in  a  description,  than  if  he  actually  saw  them 
drawn  up  in  squadrons  and  battalions,  or  engaged  in  the  confusion 
of  a  fight.  Our  minds  should  be  opened  to  great  conceptions, 
and  inflamed  with  glorious  sentiments,  by  what  the  actor  speaks, 
more  than  by  what  he  appears.  Can  all  the  trappings  or  equipage 
of  a  king  or  hero,  give  Brutus  half  that  pomp  and  majesty  which 
he  receives  from  a  few  lines  in  Shakespear  ?  C. 

At  Drury-Lane,  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Porter,  Love's  Last  Shift,  or, 
The  Fool  in  Fashion  :  Sir  Novelty,  Mr.  Gibber ;  Sir  W.  AYisewould,  Mr. 
Johnson;  Loveless,  Mr.  Wilks;  Worthy,  Mr.  Mills;  Snap,  Mr.  Pinkethman ; 
Sly,  Mr.  Bullock;  Amanda,  Mrs.  Porter;  Narcessa,  Mrs.  Oldfield;  and  Hila- 
ria,  Mrs.  BicknelL    Spect.  in  fol. 


No  44.] 


SPECTATOR 


123 


Ko.  44.    FRIDAY,  APRIL  20. 

Tu,  quid  ego  et  populus  mecum  desideret,  audi. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet  153. 

Nor  hear  what  every  auditor  expects. 

Roscommon. 

Among  the  several  artifices  which  are  put  in  practice  by  the 
poets  to  fill  the  minds  of  an  audience  with  terror,  the  first  place 
is  due  to  thunder  and  lightning,  which  are  often  made  use  of  at 
the  descending  of  a  god,  or  the  rising  of  a  ghost,  at  the  vanishing 
of  a  devil,  or  at  the  death  of  a  tyrant.  I  have  known  a  bell  in 
troduced  into  several  tragedies  with  good  effect ;  and  have  seen 
the  whole  assembly  in  a  very  great  alarm  all  the  while  it  has  been 
ringing.  But  there  is  nothing  which  delights  and  terrifies  our 
English  theatre  so  much  as  a  ghost,  especially  when  he  appears 
in  a  bloody  shirt.  A  spectre  has  very  often  saved  a  play,  though 
he  has  done  nothing  but  stalked  across  the  stage,  or  rose  through 
a  cleft  of  it,  and  sunk  again  without  speaking  one  word.  There 
may  be  a  proper  season  for  these  several  terrors ;  and  when  they 
only  come  in  as  aids  and  assistances  to  the  poet,  they  are  not 
only  to  be  excused,  but  to  be  applauded.  Thus  the  sounding  of 
the  clock  in  Yenice  Preserved,  makes  the  hearts  of  the  whole 
audience  quake ;  and  conveys  a  stronger  terror  to  the  mind,  than 
it  is  possible  for  words  to  do.  The  appearance  of  the  ghost  of 
Hamlet  is  a  master-piece  in  its  kind,  and  wrought  up  with  all  the 
circumstances  that  can  create  either  attention  or  horror.  The 
mind  of  the  reader  is  wonderfully  prepared  for  his  reception  by 
the  discourses  that  precede  it  :  his  dumb  behaviour  at  his  first 
entrance,  strikes  the  imagination  very  strongly ;  but  every  time 
he  enters,  he  is  still  more  terrifying.  Who  can  read  the  speech 
with  which  young  Hamlet  accosts  him,  without  trembling  ? 

Hor.  Look,  my  Lord,  it  comes  1 


.24 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  44. 


Ham.  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  I 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health,  or  goblin  damn'd; 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  Heav'n,  or  blasts  from  Hell; 
Be  thy  ^  event  wicked  or  charitable  ; 
Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape, 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee.    I'll  call  thee  Hamlet^ 
King,  father,  royal  Dane.    Oh!  oh!  answer  me, 
Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance  ;  but  tell 
Why  thy  canoniz'd  bones,  hearsed  in  death. 
Have  burst  theiij  cearments  ?  why  the  sepulchre, 
Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  inurn'd, 
Hath  op'd  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws 
To  cast  thee  up  again?  what  may  this  mean? 
That  thou  dead  corse  again  in  complete  steel 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous? 

I  do  not  therefore  find  fault  with  the  artifices  above  mentioned, 
when  they  are  introduced  with  skill,  and  accompanied  by  pro- 
portionable sentiments  and  expressions  in  the  writing. 

For  the  moving  of  pity,  our  principal  machine  is  the  handker- 
chief ;  and  indeed  in  our  common  tragedies,  we  should  not  know 
very  often  that  the  persons  are  in  distress  by  any  thing  they  say, 
if  they  did  not  from  time  to  time  apply  their  handkerchiefs  to 
their  eyes.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  think  of  banishing  this  instru- 
ment of  sorrow  from  the  stage ;  I  know  a  tragedy  could  not  sub- 
sist without  it :  all  that  I  would  contend  for,  is,  to  keep  it  from 
being  misapplied.  In  a  word,  I  would  have  the  actor's  tongue 
sympathize  with  his  eyes. 

A  disconsolate  mother,  with  a  child  in  her  hand,  has  frequent- 
ly drawn  compassion  from  the  audience,  and  has  therefore  gained 
a  place  in  several  tragedies.  A  modern  writer,  that  observed 
how  this  had  took  in  other  plays,  being  resolved  to  double  the 
distress,  and  melt  his  audience  twice  as  much  as  those  before 

'  For  advent,  coming  or  visiting:  the  common  reading  is  intent. — C. 
Compare  also  Addison's  reading  of  another  passage  of  Shakespeare  in  the 
Tatler,  No.  117,  v.  vol.  3.  p.— G. 


No.  44.] 


SPECTATOR. 


125 


him  had  done,  brought  a  princess  upon  the  stage  with  a  little 
boy  in  one  hand  and  a  girl  in  the  other.  This  too  had  a  very 
good  effect.  A  third  poet  being  resolved  to  out-write  all  his  pre- 
decessors, a  few  years  ago  introduced  three  children,  with  great 
success  :  and,  as  I  am  informed,  a  young  gentleman,  who  is  fully 
determined  to  break  the  most  obdurate  hearts,  has  a  tragedy  by 
him,  where  the  first  person  that  appears  upon  the  stage  is  an  af- 
flicted widow  in  her  mourning-weeds,  with  half  a  dozen  father- 
less children  attending  her,  like  those  that  usually  hang  about 
the  figure  of  Charity.  Thus  several  incidents  that  are  beautiful 
in  a  good  writer,  become  ridiculous  by  falling  into  the  hands  of 
a  bad  one. 

But  among  all  our  methods  of  moving  pity  or  terror,  there  is 
none  so  absurd  and  barbarous,  and  what  more  exposes  us  to  the 
contempt  and  ridicule  of  our  neighbours,  than  that  dreadful 
butchering  of  one  another,  which  is  so  very  frequent  upon  the 
English  stage.  To  delight  in  seeing  men  stabbed,  poisoned, 
racked,  or  impaled,  is  certainly  the  sign  of  a  cruel  temper :  and 
as  this  is  often  practised  before  the  British  audience,  several 
French  critics,  who  think  these  are  grateful  spectacles  to  us, 
take  occasion  from  them  to  represent  us  as  a  people  that  delight 
in  blood.  It  is  indeed  very  odd,  to  see  our  stage  strewed  with 
carcasses  in  the  last  scene  of  a  tragedy ;  and  to  observe  in  the 
ward-robe  of  the  play-house  several  daggers,  poniards,  wheels, 
bowls  for  poison,  and  many  other  instruments  of  death.  Murders 
and  executions  are  always  transacted  behind  the  scenes  in  the 
French  theatre ;  which  in  general  is  very  agreeable  to  the  man- 
ners of  a  polite  and  civilized  people  :  but  as  there  are  no  excep- 
tions to  this  rule  on  the  French  stage,  it  leads  them  into  absurd- 
ities almost  as  ridiculous  as  that  which  falls  under  our  present 
censure.  I  remember  in  the  famous  play  of  Corneille,  written 
upon  the  subject  of  the  Horatii  and  Curiatii ;  the  fierce  young  hero 


126 


SPECTATOR. 


[Xo.  44. 


wbo  had  overcome  the  Curiatii  one  after  another  (instead  of  being 
congratulated  by  his  sister  for  his  victory,  being  upbraided  by 
her  for  having  slain  her  lover),  in  the  height  of  his  passion  and 
resentment  kills  her.  If  any  thing  could  extenuate  so  brutal  an 
action,  it  would  be  the  doing  of  it  on  a  sudden,  before  the  senti- 
ments of  nature,  reason,  or  manhood,  could  take  place  in  him. 
However,  to  avoid  public  bloodshed,  as  soon  as  his  passion  is 
wrought  to  its  height,  he  follows  his  sister  the  whole  length  of 
the  stage,  and  forbears  killing  her  till  they  are  both  withdrawn 
behind  the  scenes.  I  must  confess,  had  he  murdered  her  before 
the  audience,  the  indecency  might  have  been  greater;  but  as  it 
is,  it  appears  very  unnatural,  and  looks  like  killing  in  cold  blood. 
To  give  my  opinion  upon  this  case;  the  fact  ought  not  to  have 
been  represented,  but  to  have  been  told,  if  there  was  any  occasion 
for  it. 

It  may  be  not  unacceptable  to  the  reader,  to  see  how  Sopho- 
cles has  conducted  a  tragedy  under  the  like  delicate  circum- 
stances. Orestes  was  in  the  same  condition  with  Hamlet  in 
Shakespear,  his  mother  having  murdered  his  father,  and  taken 
possession  of  his  kingdom  in  conspiracy  with  her  adulterer.  That 
young  prince,  therefore,  being  determined  to  revenge  his  father's 
death  upon  those  who  filled  his  throne,  conveys  himself  by  a 
beautiful  stratagem  into  his  mother's  apartment,  with  a  resolu- 
tion to  kill  her.  But  because  such  a  spectacle  would  have  been 
too  shocking  to  the  audience,  this  dreadful  resolution  is  executed 
behind  the  scenes  :  the  mother  is  heard  calling  out  to  her  son 
for  mercy ;  and  the  son  answering  her,  that  she  showed  no  mercy 
to  his  father  :  after  which  she  shriek* out  that  she  is  wounded, 
and  by  what  follows  we  find  that  she  is  slain.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber that  in  any  of  our  plays  there  are  speeches  made  behind  the 
scenes,  though  there  are  other  instances  of  this  nature  to  be  met 
with  in  those  of  the  ancients  :  and  I  believe  my  reader  will  agree 


No.  44.] 


SPECTATOR. 


127 


with  me,  that  there  is  something  infinitely  more  affecting  in  this 
dreadful  dialogue  between  the  mother  and  her  son  behind  the 
scenes,  uhan  could  have  been  in  any  thing  transacted  before  the 
audience.  Orestes  immediately  after  meets  the  usurper  at  the 
entrance  of  his  palace  :  and  by  a  very  happy  thought  of  the  poet 
avoids  killing  him  before  the  audience,  by  telling  him  that  he 
should  live  some  time  in  his  present  bitterness  of  soul  before  he 
would  dispatch  him,  and  by  ordering  him  to  retire  into  that  part 
of  the  palace  where  he  had  slain  his  father,  whose  murder  he 
would  revenge  in  the  very  same  place  where  it  was  committed. 
By  this  means  the  poet  observes  that  decency  which  Horace  af- 
terwards established  by  a  rule,  of  forbearing  to  commit  parricides 
or  unnatural  murthers  before  the  audience. 

Nee  pueros  coram  populo  Medea  trucidet. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet.  185. 
Let  not  Medea  draw  her  murthering  knife, 
And  spill  her  children's  blood  upon  the  stage. 

The  French  have  therefore  refined  too  much  upon  Horace's 
rule,  who  never  designed  to  banish  all  kinds  of  death  from  the 
stage ;  but  only  such  as  had  too  much  horror  in  them,  and  which 
would  have  a  better  effect  upon  the  audience  when  transacted  be- 
hind the  scenes.  I  would  therefore  recommend  to  my  country- 
men the  practice  of  the  ancient  poets,  who  were  very  sparing  of 
their  public  executions,  and  rather  chose  to  perform  them  behind 
the  scenes,  if  it  could  be  done  with  as  great  an  effect  upon  the 
audience.  At  the  same  time  I  must  observe,  that  though  the 
devoted  persons  of  the  Tragedy  were  seldom  slain  before  the  au 
dience,  which  has  generally  something  ridiculous  in  it,  their  bodies 
were  often  produced  after  their  death,  which  has  always  in  it  some- 
thing melancholy  or  terrifying  ;  so  that  the  killing  on  the  stage 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  avoided  only  as  an  indecency,  but 
also  as  an  improbability. 


128 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  44 


Nec  pueros  coram  popiilo  Medea  trucidet; 
Ant  human  a  palam  coquat  exta  neftirius  Atreus  ; 
Autin  avem  Progne  vertatur,  Cadmus  in  anguem. 
Quodcunque  ostendis  raihi  sic,  incredulus  odi. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet.  185. 
Medea  must  not  draw  her  murth'ring  knife, 
Nor  Atreus  there  his  horrid  feast  prepare, 
Cadmus  and  Progiie's  metumorphosis, 
(She  to  a  swallow  turnM,  he  to  a  snake,) 
And  whatsoever  contradicts  my  sense, 
I  hate  to  see  and  never  can  believe. 

EOSCOMMON. 

ve  now  gone  through  the  several  dramatic  inventions 
which  are  made  use  of  by  the  ignorant  poets  to  supply  the  place 
of  tragedy,  and  by  the  skilful  to  improve  it ;  some  of  which  I 
could  wish  entirely  rejected,  and  the  rest  to  be  used  with  caution. 
It  would  be  an  endless  task  to  consider  comedy  in  the  same  light, 
and  to  mention  the  innumerable  shifts  that  small  wits  put  in 
practice  to  raise  a  laugh.  Bullock  in  a  short  coat,  and  Norris 
in  a  long  one,  seldom  fail  of  this  effect.  In  ordinary  comedies,  a 
broad  and  a  narrow  brimmed  hat  are  different  characters.  Some- 
times the  wit  of  the  scene  lies  in  a  shoulder-belt,  and  sometimes 
in  a  pair  of  whiskers.  A  lover  running  about  the  stage,  with  his 
head  peeping  out  of  a  barrel,  was  thought  a  very  good  jest  in 
king  Charles  the  second's  time ;  and  invented  by  one  of  the  first 
wits  of  that  age.^  But  because  ridicule  is  not  so  delicate  as 
compassion,  and  because  the  objects  that  make  us  laugh  are  in- 
finitely more  numerous  than  those  that  make  us  weep,  there  is  a 
much  greater  latitude  for  comic  than  tragic  artifices,  and  by  con- 
sequence a  much  greater  indulgence  to  be  allowed  them. 

^  The  comedy  of  the  'Comical  Revenge,'  or  'Love  in  a  Tub  ; '  by  Sir 
George  Etheredge,  1664. — B. 


No.  45.] 


SPECTATOR. 


129 


No.  45.    SATURDAY,  APRIL  21. 

Natio  comseda  ost  

Juv.  Sat.  3,  V.  100. 
The  nation  is  a  company  of  players. 

There  is  nothino;  which  I  more  desire  than  a  safe  and  honour- 
able  peace,  though  at  the  same  time  I  am  very  apprehensive  of 
many  ill  consequences  that  may  attend  it.^  I  do  not  mean  in 
regard  to  our  politics,  but  to  our  manners.  What  an  inundation 
of  ribbons  and  brocades  will  break  in  upon  us  ?  what  peals  of 
laughter  and  impertinence  shall  we  be  exposed  to  ?  for  the  pre- 
vention of  these  great  evils.  I  could  heartily  wish  that  there  was 
an  act  of  parliament  for  prohibiting  the  importation  of  French 
fopperies. 

The  female  inhabitants  of  our  island  have  already  received 
very  strong  impressions  from  this  ludicrous  nation,  though  by  the 
length  of  the  war  (as  there  is  no  evil  which  has  not  some  good 
attending  it)  they  are  pretty  well  worn  out  and  forgotten.  I  re- 
member the  time  when  some  of  our  well-bred  countrywomen 
kept  their  Yalet  de  Chamhre^  because,  forsooth,  a  man  was  more 
handy  about  them  than  one  of  their  own  sex.  I  myself  have 
seen  one  of  these  male  Abigails  tripping  about  the  room  with  a 
looking-glass  in  his  hand,  and  combing  his  lady's  hair  a  whole 
morning  together.  Whether  or  no  there  was  any  truth  in  the 
story  of  a  lady's  being  got  with  child  by  one  of  these  her  hand- 
maids, I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  think  at  present  the  whole  race  of 
them  is  extinct  in  our  own  country. 

About  the  time  that  several  of  our  sex  were  taken  into  this 
kind  of  service,  the  ladies  likewise  brought  up  the  fashion  of  re- 
ceiving visits  in  their  beds.    It  was  then  looked  upon  as  a  piece 

^  Compare  the  distress  of  the  newswriter  in  theTatler,  No.  Ki. — G. 
VOL.    V. — 6* 


130 


SPECTATOR. 


[Ko.  45. 


of  ill  breeding  for  a  woman  to  refuse  to  see  a  man,  because  she 
was  not  stirring ;  and  a  porter  would  have  been  thought  unfit  for 
his  place,  that  could  have  made  so  awkward  an  excuse.  As  I  love 
to  see  every  thing  that  is  new,  I  once  prevailed  upon  my  friend 
Will.  Honeycomb  to  carry  me  along  with  him  to  one  of  these 
travelled  ladies,  desiring  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  present  me  as 
a  foreigner  who  could  not  speak  English,  that  so  I  might  not  be 
obliged  to  bear  a  part  in  the  discourse.  The  lady,  though  wil- 
ling to  appear  undrest,  had  put  on  her  best  looks,  and  painted 
herself  for  our  reception.  Her  hair  appeared  in  a  very  nice  dis- 
order, as  the  night-gown  which  was  thrown  upon  her  shoulders 
was  ruffled  with  great  care.  For  my  part.  I  am  so  shocked  with 
every  thing  which  looks  immodest  in  the  fair  sex,  that  I  could 
not  forbear  taking  off  my  eye  from  her  when  she  moved  in  her 
bed,  and  was  in  the  greatest  confusion  imaginable  every  time  she 
stirred  a  leg  or  an  arm.  As  the  coquets,  who  introduced  this 
custom,  grew  old,  they  left  it  off  by  degrees ;  well  knowing  that 
a  woman  of  threescore  may  kick  and  tumble  her  heart  out,  with- 
out making  any  impressions. 

Sempronia  is  at  present  the  most  professed  admirer  of  the 
French  nation,  but  is  so  modest  as  to  admit  her  visitants  no  far- 
ther than  her  toilet.  It  is  a  very  odd  sight  that  beautiful  crea- 
ture makes,  wlien^she  is  talking  politics  with  her  tresses  flowing 
about  her  shoulders,  and  examining  that  face  in  the  glass,  which 
does  such  execution  upon  all  the  male  standers  by.  How  pret- 
tily does  she  divide  her  discourse  between  her  woman  and  her  visi- 
tants !  What  sprightly  transitions  does  she  make  from  an  opera 
or  a  sermon,  to  an  ivory  comb  or  a  pin-cushion  !  How  have  I 
been  pleased  to  see  her  interrupted  in  an  account  of  her  travels, 
by  a  message  to  her  footman  ?  and  holding  her  tongue  in  the 
midst  of  a  moral  reflection  by  applying  the  tip  of  it  to  a  patch  1 

There  is  nothing  which  exposes  a  woman  to  greater  dangers, 


No.  45.  ] 


SPECTATOR. 


131 


than  that  gaiety  and  airiness  of  temper,  which  are  natural  to  most 
of  the  sex.  It  should  be  therefore  the  concern  of  every  wise  and 
virtuous  woman,  to  keep  this  sprightliness  from  degenerating 
into  levity.  On  the  contrary,  the  whole  discourse  and  behaviour 
of  the  French  is  to  make  the  sex  more  fantastical,  or  (as  they  are 
pleased  to  term  it)  more  awakened,  than  is  consistent  either  with 
virtue  or  discretion.  To  speak  loud  in  public  assemblies,  to  let 
every  one  hear  you  talk  of  things  that  should  only  be  mentioned 
in  private,  or  in  whisper,  are  looked  upon  as  parts  of  a  refined 
education.  At  the  same  time,  a  blush  is  unfashionable,  and 
silence  more  ill-bred  than  any  thing  that  can  be  spoken.  In  short, 
discretion  and  modesty,  which  in  all  other  ages  and  countries 
have  been  regarded  as  the  greatest  ornaments  of  the  fair  sex,  are 
considered  as  the  ingredients  of  narrow  conversation,  and  family 
behaviour. 

Some  years  ago  I  was  at  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth,  and  unfor- 
tunately placed  myself  under  a  woman  of  quality  that  is  since 
dead ;  who,  as  I  found  by  the  noise  she  made,  was  newly  returned 
from  France.  A  little  before  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  she  broke 
out  into  a  loud  soliloquy,  '  When  will  the  dear  witches  enter  ?  * 
and  immediately  upon  their  first  appearance,  asked  a  lady  that 
sat  three  boxes  from  her,  on  her  right  hand,  if  those  witches  were 
not  charming  creatures.  A  little  after,  as  Be^erton  was  in  one 
of  the  finest  speeches  of  the  play,  she  shook  her  fan  at  another 
lady,  who  sat  as  far  on  the  left  hand,  and  told  her  with  a  whisper, 
that  might  be  heard  all  over  the  pit,  we  must  not  expect  to  see 
Balloon  to  night.  Not  long  after,  calling  out  to  a  young  baronet 
by  his  name,  who  sat  three  seats  before  me,  she  asked  him  w^hether 
Macbeth's  wife  was  still  alive  ;  and  before  he  could  give  an  an- 
swer, fell  a  talking  of  the  ghost  of  Banquo.  She  had  by  this  time 
formed  a  little  audience  to  herself,  and  fixed  the  attention  of  all 
about  her.    But  as  I  had  a  mind  to  hear  the  play,  I  got  out  of 


132 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  45. 


the  sphere  of  her  impertinence,  and  planted  myself  in  one  of  the 
remotest  corners  of  the  pit. 

This  pretty  childishness  of  behaviour  is  one  of  the  most  refin- 
ed parts  of  coquetry,  and  is  not  to  be  attained  in  perfection,  by 
ladies  that  do  not  travel  for  their  improvement.  A  natural  and 
unconstrained  behaviour  has  something  in  it  so  agreeable,  that  it 
is  no  wonder  to  see  people  endeavouring  after  it.  But  at  the 
same  time,  it  is  so  very  hard  to  hit,  when  it  is  not  born  with  us, 
that  people  often  make  themselves  ridiculous  in  attempting  it. 

A  very  ingenious  French  author  tells  us,  that  the  ladies  of  the 
court  of  France,  in  his  time,  thought  it  ill  breeding,  and  a  kind  of 
female  pedantry,  to  pronounce  an  hard  word  right ;  for  which 
reason  they  took  frequent  occasions  to  use  hard  words,  that  they 
might  shew  a  politeness  in  murdering  them.  He  further  adds, 
that  a  lady  of  some  quality  at  court,  having  accidentally  made 
use  of  an  hard  word  in  a  proper  place,  and  pronounced  it  right, 
the  whole  assembly  was  out  of  countenance  for  her. 

I  must,  however,  be  so  just  to  own,  that  there  are  many  ladies 
who  have  travelled  several  thousands  of  miles  without  being  the 
worse  for  it,  and  have  brought  home  with  them  all  the  modesty, 
discretion,  and  good  sense,  that  they  went  abroad  with.  As,  on 
the  contrary,  there  are  great  numbers  of  travelled  ladies,  who 
have  lived  all  t^eir  days  within  the  smoke  of  London.  I  have 
known  a  woman  that  never  was  out  of  the  parish  of  St.  James's 
betray  as  many  foreign  fopperies  in  her  carriage,  as  she  could 
have  gleaned  up  in  half  the  countries  of  Europe.  C. 


No.  46.] 


SPECTATOR. 


133 


No.  46.   MONDAY,  APRIL  23. 

Non  bene  junctaruin  discordia  semina  rerum. 

Ovid.  Met.  1.  9. 
The  jarring  seeds  of  ill  consorted  things. 

When  I  want  materials  for  this  paper,  it  is  niy  custom  to  go 
abroad  in  quest  of  game ;  and  when  I  meet  any  proper  subject,  I 
take  the  first  opportunity  of  setting  down  an  hint  of  it  upon 
paper.  At  the  same  time  I  look  into  the  letters  of  my  corre- 
spondents, and  if  I  find  any  thing  suggested  in  them  that  may 
afi'ord  matter  of  speculation,  I  likewise  enter  a  minute  of  it  in  my 
collection  of  materials.  By  this  means  I  frequently  carry  about 
me  a  whole  sheet  full  of  hints,  that  would  look  like  a  rhapsody  of 
nonsense  to  any  body  but  myself :  there  is  nothing  in  them  but 
obscurity  and  confusion,  raving  and  inconsistency.  In  short, 
they  are  my  speculations  in  the  first  principles,  that  (like  the 
world  in  its  chaos)  are  void  of  all  light,  distinction,  and  order. 

About  a  week  since  there  happened  to  me  a  very  odd  accident, 
by  reason  of  one  of  these  my  papers  of  minutes  which  I  had  ac- 
cidently  dropped  at  Lloyd's  Coffee-house,  where  the  auctions  are 
usually  kept.  Before  J  missed  it,  there  were  a  cluster  of  people 
who  had  found  it,  and  were  diverting  themselves  with  it  at  one 
end  of  the  coffee-house  :  it  had  raised  so  much  laughter  among 
them  before  I  had  observed  what  they  were  about,  that  I  had  not 
the  courage  to  own  it.  The  boy  of  the  coffee-house,  when  they 
had  done  with  it,  carried  it  about  in  his  hand,  asking  every  body 
if  they  had  dropped  a  written  paper ;  but  nobody  challenging  it, 
he  was  ordered  by  those  merry  gentlemen  who  had  before  perused 
it,  to  get  up  in  the  auction-pulpit,  and  read  it  to  the  whole  room, 
that  if  any  one  would  own  it,  they  might.    The  boy  accordingly 


134  SPECTATOPu.  r^'o  46 

* 

mounted  the  pulpit,  and  with  a  very  audible  voice  read  as  fol 
lows. 

MINUTES. 

Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  country  seat — Yes,  for  I  hate  long 
speeches — Query,  if  a  good  Christian  may  be  a  conjurer — Chil- 
dermas-day, Salt-seller,  House-dog,  Screech-owl,  Cricket — ]Mr. 
Thomas  Inkle  of  London,  in  the  good  ship  called  the  Achilles. 
Yarico — JEgrescitque  meclendo — Ghosts — The  Lady's  Library — 
Lion  by  trade  a  tailor — Dromedary  called  Bucephalus — Equipage 
the  Lady's  summum  honum — Charles  Lilly  to  be  taken  notice 
of — Short  face  a  relief  to  envy — Redundancies  in  the  three  profes- 
sions— King  Latinus  a  recruit — Jew  devouring  an  ham  of  bacon 
— Westminster-abbey  —  Grand  Cairo  —  Procrastination — April 
Fools — Blue  Boars,  Bed  Lions,  Hogs  in  armour — Enter  a  King 
and  two  Fidlers  solus — Admission  into  the  Ugly  Club — Beauty, 
how  improveable — Families  of  true  and  false  humour — The  par- 
rot's school-mistress — Face  half  Pict  half  British — No  man  to  be 
an  hero  of  a  tragedy  under  six  foot — Club  of  Sighers — Letters 
from  Flower-pots,  Elbow-chairs,  Tapestry  figures.  Lion,  Thunder 
— The  Bell  rings  to  the  puppet-show — Old  Woman  with  a  beard 
married  to  a  smock-faced  Boy — My  next  coat  to  be  turned  up 
with  blue — Fable  of  Tongs  and  Gridiron — Flower  Dyers — The 
Soldier's  Prayer — Thank  ye  for  nothing,  says  the  Galley-pot — 
Pactolus  in  Stockings,  with  golden  clocks  to  them — Bamboos, 
Cudgels,  Drum-sticks — Slip  of  my  landlady's  eldest  daughter — 
The  black  mare  with  a  star  in  her  forehead — The  barber's  pole — 
Will.  Honeycomb's  coat-pocket — Cassar's  behaviour  and  my  own 
in  parallel  circumstances — Poem  in  patch- work — NuIIi  gra  vis  est 
percussus  Achilles — The  Female  .  Conventicler — The  Ogle- mas- 
ter. 

The  readirg  of  this  paper  made  the  whole  cofi'ee  house  very 


No.  46.] 


SPECTATOR. 


135 


merry  :  some  of  them  concluded  it  was  written  by  a  madman,  and 
others  by  somebody  that  had  been  taking  notes  out  of  the  Spec- 
tator. One  who  had  the  appearance  of  a  very  substantial  citizen, 
told  us,  with  several  politic  winks  and  nods,  that  he  wished  there 
was  no  more  in  the  paper  than  what  was  expressed  in  it ;  that,  for 
his  part,  he  looked  upon  the  Dromedary,  the  Gridiron,  and  the 
Barber's  pole,  to  signify  something  more  than  what  is  usually 
meant  by  those  words  ;  and  that  he  thought  the  coffee-man  could 
not  do  better,  than  to  carry  the  paper  to  one  of  the  Secretaries 
of  State.  He  further  added,  that  he  did  not  like  the  name  of  the 
outlandish  man  with  the  golden  clock  in  his  stockings.  A  young 
Oxford  scholar,  who  chanced  to  be  with  his  uncle  at  the  coffee- 
house, discovered  to  us  who  this  Pactolus  was;  and  by  that 
means  turned  the  whole  scheme  of  this  worthy  citizen  into  ridicule. 
While  they  were  making  their  several  conjectures  upon  this  in- 
nocent paper,  I  reached  out  my  arm  to  the  boy,  as  he  was  coming 
out  of  the  pulpit,  to  give  it  to  me ;  which  he  did  accordingly 
This  drew  the  eyes  of  the  whole  company  upon  me ;  but,  after 
having  cast  a  cursory  glance  over  it,  and  shook  my  head  twice  or 
thrice  at  the  reading  of  it,  I  twisted  it  into  a  kind  of  match,  and 
lit  my  pipe  with  it.  My  profound  silence,  together  with  the 
steadiness  of  my  countenance,  and  the  gravity  of  my  behaviour 
during  this  whole  transaction,  raised  a  very  loud  laugh  on  ail  sides 
of  me ;  but  as  I  had  escaped  all  suspicion  of  being  the  author,  I 
was  very  well  satisfied,  and  applying  myself  to  my  pipe  and  the 
post-man,  took  no  further  notice  of  any  thing  that  passed  about 
me. 

My  reader  will  find,  that  I  have  already  made  use  of  above 
half  the  contents  of  the  foregoing  paper ;  and  will  easily  suppose, 
that  those  subjects  which  are  yet  untouched,  were  such  provisions 
as  I  had  made  for  his  future  entertainment.  But  as  I  have  been 
unluckily  prevented  by  this  accident,  I  shall  only  give  him  the 


136 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  46. 


letters  which  relate  to  the  two  last  hints.  The  first  of  them  I 
should  not  have  published,  were  I  not  informed  that  there  is 
many  an  husband  who  suffers  very  much  in  his  private  affairs  by 
the  indiscreet  zeal  of  such  a  partner  as  is  hereafter  mentioned  ;  to 
whom  I  may  apply  the  barbarous  inscription  quoted  by  the  bishop 
of  Salisbury  in  his  travels  ;  Dum  nimia  pia  est ^  facta  est  impia} 

Sir, 

"  I  AM  one  of  those  unhappy  men  that  are  plagued  with  a 
gospel-gossip,  so  common  among  dissenters  (especially  friends). 
Lectures  in  the  morning,  church-meetings  at  noon,  and  prepara- 
tion sermons  at  night,  take  up  so  much  of  her  time,  'tis  very  rare 
she  knows  what  we  have  for  dinner,  unless  when  the  preacher  is 
to  be  at  it.  With  him  comes  a  tribe,  all  brothers  and  sisters  it 
seems ;  while  others,  really  such,  are  deemed  no  relations.  If  at 
any  time  I  have  her  company  alone,  she  is  a  meer  sermon  popgun, 
repeating  and  discharging  texts,  proofs,  and  applications,  so  per- 
petually, that  however  weary  I  may  go  to  bed,  the  noise  in  my 
head  will  not  let  me  sleep  still  towards  morning.  The  misery  of 
my  case,  and  great  numbers  of  such  sufferers,  plead  your  pity  and 
speedy  relief ;  otherwise  must  expect,  in  a  little  time,  to  be  lec- 
tured, preached,  and  prayed  into  want,  unless  the  happiness  ot 
being  sooner  talked  to  death  prevent  it. 

"  I  am,  &c. 

The  second  letter,  relating  to  the  Ogling  Master,  runs  thus  : 

"  Mr. -Spectator, 
"  I  am  an  Irish  gentleman,  that  have  travelled  many  years 
for  my  improvement;  during  which  time  I  have  accomplished 
myself  in  the  whole  art  of  ogling,  as  it  is  at  present  practised  in 

^  Burnett's  Letters,  <fec.,  Lett.  1,  p.  5,  ed.  Rotterdnm,  1687. — C. 


No.  47.] 


SPECTATOR. 


137 


the  polite  nations  of  Europe.  Being  thus  qualified,  I  intend, 
by  the  advice  of  my  friends,  to  set  up  for  an  ogling-master.  I 
teach  the  church  ogle  in  the  morning,  and  the  playhouse  ogle  by 
candle-light.  I  have  also  brought  over  with  me  a  new  flying  ogle 
fit  for  the  ring,  which  I  teach  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  or  in 
any  hour  of  the  day  by  darkening  one  of  my  windows.  I  have  a 
manuscript  by  me  called  The  complete  Ogler,  which  I  shall  be 
ready  to  shew  you  upon  any  occasion.  In  the  mean  time,  I  beg 
you  will  publish  the  substance  of  this  letter  in  an  advertisement, 
and  you  will  very  much  oblige, 

"  Your's,  &c," 


No.  47.    TUESDAY,  APEIL  24. 

Ride  si  sapis  

Mart. 
Laugh  if  you're  wise.i 

Mr.  Hobbs,  in  his  discourse  of  human  nature,  which,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  is  much  the  best  -of  all  his  works,  after  some 
very  curious  observations  upon  laughter,  concludes  thus  :  ^  The 
passion  of  laughter  is  nothing  else  but  sudden  glory  arising  from 
some  sudden  conception  of  some  eminency  in  ourselves  by  com- 
parison with  the  infirmity  of  others,  or  with  our  own  formerly  : 
for  men  laugh  at  the  follies  of  themselves  past,  when  they  come 
suddenly  to  remembrance,  except  they  bring  with  them  any 
present  dishonour. 

According  to  this  author,  therefore,  when  we  hear  a  man  laugh 
excessively,  instead  of  saying  he  is  very  merry,  we  ought  to  tell 
him  he  is  very  proud.    And  indeed,  if  we  look  into  the  bottom  of 

1  See  Dennis's  original  letters,  p.  147. — C. 


138 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  47 


this  matter,  we  shall  meet  with  many  observations  to  confirm  us 
in  this  opinion.  Every  one  laughs  at  some  body  that  is  in  an 
inferior  state  of  folly  to  himself  It  was  formerly  the  custom  for 
every  great  house  in  England  to  keep  a  tame  fool  dressed  in  pet- 
ticoats, that  the  heir  of  the  family  might  have  an  opportunity  of 
joking  upon  him,  and  diverting  himself  with  his  absurdities.  For 
the  same  reason  idiots  are  still  in  request  in  most  of  the  courts  of 
Germany,  where  there  is  not  a  prince  of  any  great  magnificence, 
who  has  not  two  or  three  dressed,  distinguished,  undisputed  fools 
in  his  retinue,  whom  the  rest  of  the  courtiers  are  always  breaking 
their  jests  upon. 

The  Dutch,  who  are  more  famous  for  their  industry  and  ap- 
plication, than  for  wit  and  humour,  hang  up  in  several  of  their 
streets  what  they  call  the  sign  of  the  Gaper ;  that  is,  the  head  of 
an  idiot  dressed  in  a  cap  and  bells,  and  gaping  in  a  most  immo- 
derate manner  :  this  is  a  standing  jest  at  Amsterdam. 

Thus  every  one  diverts  himself  with  some  person  or  other 
that  is  below  him  in  point  of  understanding,  and  triumphs  in  the 
superiority  of  his  genius,  whilst  he  has  such  objects  of  derision 
before  his  eyes.  Mr.  Dennis  has  very  well  expressed  this  in  a 
couple  of  humourous  lines,  which  are  part  of  a  translation  of  a 
satire  in  Monsieur  Boileau. 

Thus  one  fool  lolls  his  tongue  out  at  another, 
And  shakes  his  empty  noddle  at  his  brother. 

Mr.  Hobbs's  reflection  gives  us  the  reason  why  the  insignificant 
Deople  above  mentioned  are  stirrers  up  of  laughter  among  men 
of  a  gross  taste  :  but  as  the  more  understanding  part  of  mankind 
do  not  find  their  risibility  afi'ected  by  such  ordinary  objects,  it 
may  be  worth  the  while  to  examine  into  the  several  provocatives 
of  laughter  in  men  of  superior  sense  and  knowledge. 

In  the  first  place  I  must  observe,  that  there  is  a  set  of  merry 


No.  A1.] 


SPECTATOR. 


139 


drolls,  whom  the  common  people  of  all  countries  admire,  and  seem 
to  love  so  well  that  they  could  eat  them,  according  to  the  old 
proverb ;  I  mean  those  circumforaneous  wits  whom  every  nation 
calls  by  the  name  of  that  dish  of  meat  which  it  loves  best.  In 
Holland  they  are  termed  Pickled  Herrings  ;  in  France,  Jean 
Pottages  ;  in  Italy,  Maccaronies  ;  and  in  G-reat  Britain,  Jack 
Puddings.  These  merry  wags,  from  whatsoever  food  they  re- 
ceive their  titles,  that  they  may  make  their  audiences  laugh,  al- 
ways appear  in  a  fooFs  coat,  and  commit  such  blunders  and  mis- 
takes in  every  step  they  take,  and  every  word  they  utter,  as  those 
who  listen  to  them  would  be  ashamed  of. 

But  this  little  triumph  of  the  understanding,  under  the  dis- 
guise  of  laughter,  is  no  where  more  visible  than  in  that  custom 
which  prevails  every  where  among  us  on  the  first  day  of  the 
present  month,  when  every  body  takes  it  in  his  head  to  make  as 
many  fools  as  he  can.  In  proportion  as  there  are  more  follies 
discovered,  so  there  is  more  laughter  raised  on  this  day  than  on 
any  other  in  the  whole  year.  A  neighbour  of  mine,  who  is  a 
haberdasher  by  trade,  and  a  very  shallow  conceited  fellow,  makes 
his  boasts,  that,  for  these  ten  years  successively,  he  has  not  made 
less  than  an  hundred  April  fools.  My  landlady  had  a  falling  out 
with  him  about  a  fortnight  ago,  for  sending  every  one  of  her 
children  upon  some  ^  sleeveless  errand,'  as  she  terms  it.  Her 
eldest  son  went  to  buy  an  halfpenny  worth  of  inkle  at  a  shoe- 
maker's ;  the  eldest  daughter  was  dispatched  half  a  mile  to  see  a 
monster;  and,  in  short,  the  whole  family  of  innocent  children 
made  April  fools.  Nay,  my  landlady  herself  did  not  escape  him. 
This  empty  fellow  has  laughed  upon  these  conceits  ever  since. 

This  art  of  wit  is  well  enough,  when  confined  to  one  day  in 
a  twelvemonth ;  but  there  is  an  ingenious  tribe  of  men  sprung 
up  of  late  years,  who  are  for  making  April  fools  every  day  in  the 
year.    These  gentlemen. are  commonly  distinguished  by  the  name 


140 


SPECTATOP^ 


[No.  47. 


of  Biters,  ^  a  race  of  men  that  are  perpetually  employed  in  laugh- 
ing at  those  mistakes  which  are  of  their  own  production. 

Thus  we  see,  in  proportion  as  one  man  is  more  refined  than 
another,  he  chuses  his  fool  out  of  a  lower  or  higher  class  of  man- 
kind ;  or,  to  speak  in  a  more  philosophical  language,  that  secret 
elation  and  pride  of  heart  which  is  generally  called  laughter, 
arises  in  him  from  his  comparing  himself  with  an  object  below 
him,  whether  it  so  happens  that  it  be  a  natural  or  an  artificial  fool. 
It  is  indeed  very  possible,  that  the  persons  we  laugh  at  may,  in 
the  main  of  their  characters,  be  much  wiser  men  than  ourselves ; 
but  if  they  would  have  us  laugh  at  them,  they  must  fall  short  of 
us  in  those  respects  which  stir  up  this  passion. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  appear  too  abstracted  in  my  speculations, 
if  I  shew  that  when  a  man  of  wit  makes  us  laugh,  it  is  by  betray- 
ing some  oddness  or  infirmity  in  his  own  character,  or  in  the  rep- 
resentation which  he  makes  of  others ;  and  that  when  we  laugh 
at  a  brute,  or  even  at  an  inanimate  thing,  it  is  at  some  action  or 
incident  that  bears  a  remote  analogy  to  any  blunder  or  absurdity 
in  reasonable  creatures. 

But,  to  come  into  common  life,  I  shall  pass  by  the  considera- 
tion of  those  stage  coxcombs  that  are  able  to  shake  a  whole  au- 
dience, and  take  notice  of  a  particular  sort  of  men  who  are  such 
provokers  of  mirth  in  conversation,  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  club 
or  merry-meeting  to  subsist  without  them ;  I  mean  those  honest 
gentlemen  that  are  always  exposed  to  the  wit  and  raillery  of 

1  "A  new  fashioned  way  of  being  witty,  and  they  call  it  a  Bite.  You 
must  ask  a  bantering  question  or  tell  some  damned  lie  in  a  serious  manner, 
then  she  will  answer  or  speak  as  if  you  were  in  earnest,  and  then  cry  you, 
*  Madam  there's  a  Bite,'''  V,  Swift's  Works,  vol.  XIX.  p.  4. — "I  would  not 
have  you  undervalue  this,"  adds  the  stern  satirist,  "for  it  is  the  constant 
amusement  in  court  and  every  where  else  among  the  great  people  :  and  I 
let  you  know  it  in  order  to  have  it  obtain  among  you,  and  to  teach  you  a 
now  refinement."  Rowe  wrote  a  farce  on  this  subject,  and  called  it  the 
'  Biter.'    V.  also  Tatler  No.  12,  and  Spectator  504.— G-. 


No.  47.] 


SPECTATOR. 


141 


their  well-wishers  and  companions  ;  that  are  pelted  by  men,  wo- 
men, and  children,  friends,  and  foes  ;  and,  in  a  word,  stand  as 
Butts  in  conversation,  for  every  one  to  shoot  at  that  pleases.  I 
know  several  of  these  Butts  who  are  men  of  wit  and  sense,  though 
by  some  odd  turn  of  humour,  some  unlucky  cast  in  their  person 
or  behaviour,  they  have  always  the  misfortune  to  make  the  com- 
pany merry.  The  truth  of  it  is,  a  man  is  not  qualified  for  a  Butt, 
who  has  not  a  good  deal  of  wit  and  vivacity,  even  in  the  ridicu- 
lous side  of  his  character.  A  stupid  Butt  is  only  fit  for  the  con- 
versation of  ordinary  people  :  men  of  wit  require  one  that  will 
give  them  play,  and  bestir  himself  in  the  absurd  part  of  his  be- 
haviour. A  Butt  with  these  accomplishments  frequently  gets  the 
laugh  on  his  side,  and  turns  the  ridicule  upon  him  that  attacks 
him.  Sir  John  Falstafi"  was  an  hero  of  this  species,  and  gives 
a  good  description  of  himself  in  his  capacity  of  a  Butt,  after  the 
following  manner  ;  '  Men  of  all  sorts  (says  that  merry  knight) 
take  a  pride  to  gird  at  me.  The  brain  of  man  is  not  able  to  in- 
vent any  thing  that  tends  to  laughter  more  than  I  invent,  or  is 
invented  on  me.  I  am  not  only  witty  in  myself,  but  the  cause 
that  wit  is  in  other  men.'  C. 


142 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  50 


No.  50.    FRIDAY,  APRIL  27. 

Nuiiquam  aliud  natura,  aliud  sapientia  dixit. 

Juv. 

Good  sense  and  nature  always  speak  the  same. 

When  the  four  Indian  kings  ^  were  in  this  country  about 
a  twelvemonth  ago,  I  often  mixed  with  the  rabble,  and  followed 
them  a  whole  day  together,  being  wonderfully  struck  with  the 

1  'The  Spectator  is  written  by  Steele,  with  Addison's  help  ;  it  is  often 
very  pretty.  Yesterday  it  was  made  of  a  noble  hint  I  gave  him  long  ago 
for  his  Tatlers,  about  an  Indian  king,  supposed  to  write  his  travels  into 
England.  1  repent  he  ever  had  it.  I  intended  to  have  written  a  book  on 
that  subject.  I  believe  he  has  spent  it  all  in  one  paper,  and  all  the  under- 
hints  there  are  mine  too;  but  I  never  see  him  or  Addison.*  From  a  letter 
of  Swift  to  Mrs.  Johnson,  dated  London,  April  28,  1711 — See  Swift's  Works, 
vol.  xxii.  p.  224,  cr.  8vo.  1769. 

Some  account  has  been  given  of  the  four  Indian  kings  in  an  antecedent 
Dote  on  Tat.  No.  171,  to  which  the  reader  is  referred.  For  several  years 
after  this  time,  it  was  common  at  masquerades  almost  coeval  with  this 
paper,  to  assume  the  characters  and  dresses  of  Indian  kings, -as  appears 
from  a  passage  of  a  periodical  work  in  1717,  conducted  by  Mr.  Theobald, 
under  the  title  of  the  Censor.  See  Censor,  vol.  ii.  No.  58,  p.  194.  The 
curiouri  may  see  in  the  British  Museum  four  beautiful  pictures  of  these  In- 
dian chiefs  in  theii*  peculiar  dresses,  and  probably  the  representations 
they  give  are  as  faithful  as  they  are  elegant.  There  was  an  opinion  that 
tliey  were  the  figures  of  four  Chinese  Emperors,  and  some  similarity  in  the 
names  to  those  we  meet  with  in  the  history  of  China  favoured  the  suppo- 
sition ;  but  on  the  removal  of  the  frames,  and  the  plated  glasses  placed 
before  them,  which  create  some  deception,  and  cover  parts  of  the  inscrip- 
tions, they  prove  to  be,  not  coloured  mezzotintos,  or  printed  paintings  in 
the  ingenious  method  discovered  about  this  time  by  James  Le  Blon,  as 
was  at  first  supposed,  but  fine  pictures  on  ivory.  The  emperor  of  the 
Mohocks  holds  tlie  wampum  in  his  hand,  a  pledge  of  the  amity  of  the  six 
Indian  nations,  and  his  naiiie  as  well  as  the  names  of  his  three  royal  coiu- 

«  Swift  tells  Mrs.  Johnson  (Letter  21,  April  14,  1711),  that  the  hint,  on 
which  this  specuhition  is  formed,  came  from  him  ;  and  that  he  intended 
to  have  writt^en  a  book  upon  it.  Mr.  Addison  judged  much  better  to  work 
up  his  materials  in  a  single  paper.    See  note  on  No.  470  of  the  Spectator. 


No.  50.] 


SPECTATOR. 


143 


sight  of  every  thing  that  is  new  or  uncommon.  I  have,  since 
their  departure,  employed  a  friend  to  make  many  inquiries  of  their 
landlord,  the  upholsterer,  relating  to  their  manners  and  conver- 

panions  correspond  to  those  of  the  Indian  kings  given  Tat.  No.  171,  and 
note,  with  no  other  variations  in  the  orthography  of  the  sounds,  than 
their  uncouthness  may  well  be  supposed  to  account  for.  The  real  name 
of  the  artist,  for  his  cipher  upon  them  was  taken  for  that  of  Le  Blon,  is 
certainly  known  by  the  following  indorsement,  '  Drawn  by  the  life.  May 
2,  1710,  by  Bernard  Lens,  jun.' 

These  fine  pictures  are  not  whole  lengths ;  but  from  the  following 
advertisements  in  the  Tatler  in  folio,  it  appears  that  the  four  Indian 
kings  were  painted  at  full  lengths  by  John  Yerelst,  and  that  his  paint- 
ings of  them  were  in  the  collection  of  pictures  belonging  to  queen 
Anne. 

'Whereas  an  advertisement  was  published  in  the  Supplement  of  yes 
terday,  that  the  effigies  of  the  four  Indian  kings  were  drawn  from  Mr.  Ye- 
relst's  original  pictures,  these  are  to  give  notice  that  Mr.  Verelst  has  not 
permitted  any  person  to  take  any  draught  or  sketch  from  them.  If  he 
should,  he  will  take  care  to  have  it  correctly  done  by  a  skilful  hand,  and 
to  inform  the  public  thereof  in  the  Tatler.'  Signed  John  Yerelst.  At  the 
Rainbow  and  Dove,  by  Ivy-bridge,  in  the  Strand. — Tat.  in  fol.  No.  172, 
May  16,  1710. 

About  half  a  year  after,  the  following  advertisement  appeared  at  the 
end  of  Tat.  No.  250  in  folio,  Nov.  14,  1710.  'This  is  to  give  notice,  that 
the  mezzotinto  prints  by  John  Simmonds,  in  whole  lengths,  of  the  four 
Indian  kings,  that  are  done  from  the  original  pictures  drawn  by  John  Ye- 
relst, which  her  majesty  has  at  her  palace  at  Kensington,  are  now  to  be 
delivered  to  subscribers,  and  sold  at  the  Rainbow  and  Dove,  the  corner  of 
Ivy-bridge,  in  the  Strand.'  This  notice  was  re-printed  with  some  varia- 
tion in  the  Tat.  in  folio,  at  the  ends  of  Nos.  253,  256,  and  257. 

Besides  the  prints  of  Simmonds,  there  were,  it  seems,  other  prints  of 
the  Indian  chiefs,  said  to  have  been  drawn  from  Yerelst's  original  pic- 
tures, disowned  by  that  painter  as  not  originating  from  him,  and  repre- 
sented in  his  advertisement  as  incorrect,  and  the  workmanship  of  an  un- 
skilful hand. 

Walpole,  in  his  anecdotes  of  Painting,  <fec.,  gives  some  account  of  John, 
under  the  name  of  Simon  Yerelst,  and  says,  *he  lived  to  a  great  age,  cer- 
tainly as  late  as  1710,  and  died  in  Suffolk-street,'  i.  e.  Ivy-bridge  lane.  He 
was  a  Dutch  flower-painter  of  capital  excellence  in  that  branch  of  the  art 
of  painting  ;  and  likewise  attempted  portraits,  labouring  them  exceeding- 
ly, and  finishing  them  with  the  same  delicacy  with  his  flowers,  which  he 
always  introduced  into  them.    His  works  were  much  admired,  and  his 


144 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  50. 


sation,  as  also  concerning  the  remarks  which  they  made  in  this 
country :  for,  next  to  the  forming  a  right  notion  of  such  strangers, 
I  should  be  desirous  of  learning  what  ideas  they  have  conceived 
of  us. 

prices  the  greatest  that  had  been  known  in  this  country:  for  one  half 
length  he  was  paid  110/.  He  was  a  real  ornament  to  the  reign  of  Chas.  XL 
and  greatly  lessened  the  employment  of  sir  Peter  Lely,  who  retired  to 
Kew,  while  Verelst  engrossed  tlie  fashion.  Walpole  has  recorded  enter- 
taining instances  of  the  vanity  of  Kneller,  and  Jervase,  mentioned  Tat. 
Nos.  4,  and  7  ;  but  Verelst  was  outright  mad  with  vanity,  and  more  than 
once  confined  as  insane.  In  his  confinement,  under  a  proper  regimen,  to- 
wards the  end  of  his  life,  he  recovered  his  senses,  but  not  his  genius.  His 
son  Cornelius  was  of  his  father's  profession,  as  was  also  his  very  accom- 
plished daughter,  who  was  an  excellent  colourist;  painted  in  oil ;  drew 
small  histaries,  and  portraits  both  large  and  small ;  she  understood  music, 
and  spoke  with  fluency  Latin,  German,  Italian,  and  other  languages.  John 
Verelst  had  likewise  a  brother  of  the  name  of  Herman,  who  painted  his- 
tory, fruit,  and  flowers ;  he  lived  abroad  at  Vienna  till  the  Turks  beseiged 
it  in  1683,  but  died  in  London  about  the  beginning  of  this  century,  and 
was  buried  in  St.  Andrew's,  Holborn. 

John  Simmonds,  whom  Wampole  calls  Simon,  mentioned  in  the  second 
advertisement,  was  the  best  mezzotinto  scraper  of  his  time ;  but  he  was 
soon  excelled  by  Smith,  -White,  and  other  improvers  of  his  art.  He  copied 
the  pictures  of  sir  G.  Kneller,  and  other  masters  with  success,  and  died  in 
1755. 

Bernard  Lens  sprang  from  a  family  of  artists,  and  was  an  admirable 
painter  in  miniature  ;  he  painted  portraits  in  that  way ;  but  his  excellence 
was  copying  the  works  of  great  masters,  particularly  Rubens  and  Van- 
dyke, whose  colouring  he  imitated  exactly.  He  had  three  sons  who  fol- 
lowed their  father's  profession,  who  retired  from  business,  made  two  sales 
of  his  pictures,  and  died  at  Knightsbridge  in  1741. 

James  Le  Blon  above-mentioned  invented  his  method  of  printing  paint- 
ings, about  the  same  time  that  Edward  Kirkall  invented  his  method  of 
printed  drawings;  but  though  both  of  their  inventions  had  much  success 
and  applause,  yet  they  had  no  imitators.  Their  methods  are  probably  too 
laborious,  and  too  tedious;  and  in  opulent  countries,  where  there  is  great 
facility  of  getting  money,  it  is  seldom  got  by  merit,  the  artists  being  in  too 
much  haste  to  deserve  it.  Le  Blon,  the  inventor  of  the  method  of  mezzo- 
tinto here  spoken  of,  which  adds  at  least  the  resemblance  of  a  colour  to 
such  prints,  succeeded  in  his  art  sufficiently  to  convince  the  world  that 
the  want  of  colouring,  a  great  deficiency  in  prints,  was  attainable  and  well 
worthy  of  acquisition.    His  discovery  was  however  neglected,  as  the  revi- 


No.  50.] 


SPECTATOR. 


145 


The  upholsterer  finding  my  friend  very  inquisitive  about  these 
his  lodgers,  brought  him  some  time  since  a  little  bundle  of  papers., 
which  he  assured  him  were  written  by  King  Sa  Ga  Yean  Qua  Rash 
Tow,  and,  as  he  supposes,  left  behind  by  some  mistake.  These 
papers  are  now  translated,  and  contain  abundance  of  very  odd 
observations,  which  I  find  this  little  fraternity  of  kings  made  dur- 
ing their  stay  in  the  Isle  of  Great  Britain.  I  shall  present  my 
reader  with  a  short  specimen  of  them  in  this  paper,  and  may  per- 
haps communicate  more  to  him  hereafter.  In  the  article  of  Lon- 
don are  the  following  words,  which,  without  doubt,  are  meant  of 
the  Church  of  St.  Paul. 

^  On  the  most  rising  part  of  the  town  there  stands  a  huge 
house,  big  enough  to  contain  the  whole  nation  of  which  I  am 
king.  Our  good  brother  E  Tow  0  Koam,  king  of  the  rivers,  is 
of  opinion  it  was  made  by  the  hands  of  that  great  god  to  whom 
it  is  consecrated.  The  kings  of  Granajah,  and  of  the  six  nations, 
believe  that  it  was  created  with  the  earth,  and  produced  on  the 
same  day  with  the  sun  and  moon.  But,  for  my  own  part,  by  the 
best  information  that  I  could  get  of  this  matter,  I  am  apt  to 
think,  that  this  prodigious  pile  was  fashioned  into  the  shape  it 
now  bears  by  several  tools  and  instruments,  of  which  they  have  a 
wonderful  variety  in  this  country.  It  was  probably  at  first  an 
huge  misshapen  rock  that  grew  upon  the  top  of  the  hill,  which 
the  natives  of  the  country  (after  having  cut  it  into  a  kind  of  reg- 
ular figure)  bored  and  hollowed  with  incredible  pains  and  indus- 

val  of  encaustic  painting  has  lately  been,  though  the  advantages  of  both 
these  arts  are  so  obvious  and  so  desirable.  He  communicated  his  inven- 
tion to  the  public  in  a  book  in  4to  EngHsh  and  French,  intitled  Coloritto ; 
or,  The  Harmony  of  Colouring  in  Painting  reduced  to  mechanical  Prac- 
tice, under  easy  Precepts  and  infallible  Rules.  This  ingenious  man  was  an 
unfortunate  projector,  and,  on  the  failure  of  one  of  his  projects  in  this 
country,  left  it  under  some  disgrace,  and  died,  it  is  said,  in  an  hospital  at 
Paris.  SeeSpect.  'No.  136,  ncte  ;  Tat.  171,  and  note.— 0. 
VOL.   V. —  7 


146 


SPECTATOR. 


[Xv/.  50 


try,  till  they  had  wrought  in  it  all  those  beautiful  vaults  and  ca- 
verns into  which  it  is  divided  at  this  day.  As  soon  as  this  rock 
was  thus  curiously  scooped  to  their  liking,  a  prodigious  number 
of  hands  must  have  been  employed  in  chipping  the  outside  of  it, 
which  is  now  as  smooth  as  the  surface  of  a  pebble ;  and  is  in  sev- 
eral places  hewn  out  into  pillars,  that  stand  like  the  trunks  of 
so  many  trees  bound  about  the  top  with  garlands  of  leaves.  It 
is  probable  that  when  this  great  work  was  begun,  which  must 
have  been  many  hundred  years  ago,  there  was  some  religion 
among  this  people,  for  they  give  it  the  name  of  a  temple,  and 
have  a  tradition  that  it  was  designed  for  men  to  pay  their  devo- 
tion in.  And,  indeed,  there  are  several  reasons  which  make  us 
think,  that  the  natives  of  this  country  had  formerly  among  them 
some  sort  of  worship  ;  for  they  set  apart  every  seventh  day  as 
sacred  :  but  upon  my  going  into  one  of  these  holy  houses  on  that 
day,  I  could  not  observe  any  circumstance  of  devotion  in  their 
behaviour  :  there  was,  indeed,  a  man  in  black  who  was  mounted 
above  the  rest,  and  seemed  to  utter  something  with  a  great  deal 
of  vehemence  ;  but  as  for  those  underneath  him,  instead  of  paying 
their  worship  to  the  deity  of  the  place,  they  were  most  of  them 
bowing  and  curtseying  to  one  another,  and  a  considerable  number 
of  them  fast  asleep. 

'  The  queen  of  the  country  appointed  two  men  to  attend  us, 
that  had  enough  of  our  language  to  make  themselves  understood 
in  some  few  particulars.  But  we  soon  perceived  these  two  were 
great  enemies  to  one  another,  and  did  not  always  agree  in  the 
same  story.  We  could  make  a.  shift  to  gather  out  of  one  of  them, 
that  this  island  was  very  much  infested  with  a  monstrous  kind 
of  animals,  in  the  shape  of  men,  called  Whigs  ;  and  he  often  told 
us,  that  he  hoped  we  should  meet  with  none  of  them  in  our  way, 
for  that,  if  we  did,  they  would  be  apt  to  knock  us  down  for 
being  kings. 


No.  50.] 


SPECTATOR. 


i47 


*  Our  other  interpreter  used  to  talk  very  much  of  a  kind  of 
animal  called  a  Tory,  that  was  as  great  a  monster  as  the  Whig, 
and  would  treat  us  as  ill  for  being  foreigners.  These  two  crea- 
tures, it  seems,  are  born  with  a  secret  antipathy  to  one  another, 
and  engage  when  they  meet  us  naturally  as  the  elephant  and  the 
rhinoceros.  But  as  we  saw  none  of  either  of -these  species,  we 
are  apt  to  think  that  our  guides  deceived  us  with  misrepresenta- 
tions and  fictions,  and  amused  us  with  an  account  of  such  mon- 
sters as  are  not  really  in  their  country.  ^ 

'  These  particulars  we  made  a  shift  to  pick  out  from  the 
discourse  of  our  interpreters  ;  which  we  put  together  as  well  as 
we  could,  being  able  to  understand  but  here  and  there  a  word  of 
what  they  said,  and  afterwards  making  up  the  meaning  of  it 
among  ourselves.  The  men  of  the  country  are  very  cunning  and 
ingenious  in  handicraft  works ;  but  withal  so  very  idle,  that  we 
often  saw  young,  lus4:y,  raw-boned  fellows,  carried  up  and  down 
the  streets  in  little  covered  rooms  by  a  couple  of  porters,  who 
are  hired  for  that  service.  Their  dress  is  likewise  very  bar- 
barous, for  they  almost  strangle  themselves  about  the  neck,  and 
bhid  their  bodies  with  many  ligatures,  that  we  are  apt  to  think 
are  the  occasion  of  several  distempers  among  them,  which  our 
country  is  entirely  free  from.  Instead  of  those  beautiful  fea- 
thers, with  which  we  adorn  our  heads,  they  often  buy  up  a  mon- 
strous bush  of  hair,  which  covers  their  heads,  and  falls  down  in 
a  large  fleece  below  the  middle  of  their  backs,  with  which  they 
walk  up  and  down  the  streets,  and  are  as  proud  of  it  as  if  it  was 
of  tfieir  own  growth. 

'  We  were  invited  to  one  of  their  public  diversions,  where  we 
hoped  to  have  seen  the  great  men  of  their  country  running  down 

*  Of  these  two  aiiima]s  the  Indian  kings  could  have  no  idea,  and  there- 
fore seem  here  to  be  illustrating  obscurwn  per  obscurius  and  explaining  the 
monsters  spoken  of  here  by  animals  that  were  not  really  in  their  country. 
—C. 


148 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  60 


a  stag,  or  pitching  a  bar,  that  we  might  have  discovered  who 
were  the  persons  of  the  greatest  abilities  among  them ;  but 
instead  of  that,  they  conveyed  us  into  an  huge  room  lighted  up 
with  abundance  of  candles,  where  this  lazy  people  sat  still  above 
three  hours  to  see  several  feats  of  ingenuity  performed  by  others, 
who  it  seems  were  paid  for  it. 

^  As  for  the  women  of  the  country,  not  being  able  to  talk 
with  them,  we  could  only  make  our  remarks  upon  them  at^a  dis- 
tance. They  let  the  hair  of  their  heads  grow  to  a  great  letigth ; 
but  as  -the  men  make  a  great  show  with  heads  of  hair  that  are 
none  of  their  own,  the  women,  who  they  say  have  very  fine  heads 
of  hair,  tie  it  up  in  a  knot,  and  cover  it  from  being  seen.  The 
women  look  like  angels,  and  would  be  more  beautiful  than  the 
sun,  were  it  not  for  little  black  spots  that  are  apt  to  break  out 
in  their  faces,  and  sometimes  rise  in  very  odd  figures.  I  have 
observed  that  those  little  blemishes  wear  ofi"  very  soon ;  but 
when  they  disappear  in  one  part  of  the  face,  they  are  apt  to 
break  out  in  another,  insomuch  that  I  have  seen  a  spot  upon  the 
forehead  in  the  afternoon,  which  was  upon  the  chin  in  the 
morning.' 

The  author  then  proceeds  to  shew  the  absurdity  of  breeches 
and  petticoats,  with  many  other  curious  observations,  which  I 
shall  reserve  for  another  occasion.  I  cannot,  however,  conclude 
this  paper  without  taking  notice,  that  amidst  these  wild  re- 
marks, there  now  and  then  appears  something  very  reasonable. 
I  cannot  likewise  forbear  observing,  that  we  are  all  guilty  in 
some  measure  of  the  same  narrow  way  of  thinking,  which  we 
meet  with  in  this  abstract  of  the  Indian  Journal;  when  we 
fancy  the  customs,  dresses,  and  manners  of  other  countries  are 
ridiculous  and  extravagant,  if  they  do  not  resemble  those  of 
our  own.**  C. 

At  the  desire  of  several  ladies  of  quality,  and  for  the  entertainment 


No  55.] 


SPECTATOR. 


149 


No.  55.    THURSDAY,  MAY  3. 

 Intus,  et  in  jecore  aegro, 

Nascuntur  domiui.  

Pers.  Sat.  5,  V.  129. 
Our  passions  play  the  tyrant  in  our  breasts. 

Most  of  the  trades,  professions,  and  ways  of  living  among  man- 
kind, take  their  original  either  from  the  love  of  pleasure,  or  the 
fear  of  want.  The  former,  when  it  becomes  too  violent,  degenerates 
into  luxury,  and  the  latter  into  avarice.  As  these  two  principles  of 
action  draw  different  ways,  Persius  has  given  us  a  very  humorous 
account  of  a  young  fellow  who  was  roused  out  of  his  bed,  in  order 
to  be  sent  upon  a  long  voyage  by  Avarice,  and  afterwards  over- 
persuaded  and  kept  at  home  by  Luxury.  I  shall  set  down  at 
length  the  pleadings  of  these  two  imaginary  persons,  as  they  are 
in  the  original,  with  Mr.  Dry  den's  translation  of  them. 

Mane,  piger,  stertis  :  surge,  inquit  Avaritia  ;  eja 

Surge.    Negas  ?  instat,  Surge  inquit.    ISTon  queo.  Surge. 

Et  quid  agam  ?  Rogitas  ?  Saperdas  advehe  Ponto, 

Castoreum,  stuppas,  hebenum,  thus,  lubrica  Coa. 

ToUe  recens  primus  piper  e  sitiente  camelo  : 

Verte  aliquid  ;  jura.    Sed  Jupiter  audiet.  Elieul 

Baro,  regustatum  digito  terebrare  salinum 

Contentus  perages,  si  vivere  cum  Jove  tendis. 

Jam  pueris  pellem  succinctus  et  eenophorum  aptas ; 

Ocyus  ad  navem.    Nil  obstat  quin  trabe  vast^i 

^geum  rapias,  nisi  solers  Luxuria  ante 

SeductOm  moneat ;  Quo  deinde,  insane  ruis  ?  Quo  ? 

Quid  tibi  vis  ?  Calido  sub  pectore  mascula  bilis 

Intumiiit,  quam  non  extinxerit  urna  cicutae? 

Tun'  mare  transilias  ?  Tibi  torta  cannabe  fulto 

Csena  sit  in  transtro  ?  Veientaniimque  rubellum 

Exhalet  vapida  Isesum  pice  sessilis  obba? 

of  the  Emperor  of  the  Mohocks,  and  the  three  Indian  kings,  being  the  last 
time  of  their  public  appearance,  on  Monday  next.  May  1,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Hennings,  will  be  performed  at  the  great  room  in  York  Buildings,  a 
consort  of  music.  Y.  Tatler  lYl,  note. — C. 


150 


SPECTATOR. 


Quidpetis?  Ut  nnmmi,  qos  hie  qui ncu nee  modesto 

Nutrieras,  pergant  avidos  sudare  deunces? 

Indulge  genio  :  carpanms  diilcia  ;  nostrum  est 

Quod  vivis  ;  cinis,  et  manes,  et  fabula  fies. 

Vive  memor  lethi:  fugit  bora.    Iloe  quod  loquar,  inde  est. 

En  quid  agis  ?    Dupliei  in  diversum  scinderis  hamo, 

Hunccine,  an  hune  sequeris  ?  

Sat.  y.  132.1 

Whether  alone,  or  in  thy  harlot's  lap, 

When  thou  would^st  take  a  lazy  morning's  nap, 

Up,  up,  says  Avarice.    Thou  snor  st  again, 

Stretchest  thy  limbs,  and  yawn'st,  but  all  in  vain  ; 

The  rugged  tyrant  no  denial  takes  ; 

At  his  command  th'  unwilling  sluggard  wakes. 

What  must  I  do  ?  (He  cries.)    What  ?  (says  his  lord,) 

Why  rise,  make  ready,  and  go  straight  abroad: 

With  fish,  from  Euxine  seas,  thy  vessel  freight; 

Flax,  castor,  Coan  wines,  the  precious  weight 

Of  pepper,  and  Sabean  incense,  take 

With  thy  own  hands  from  the  tir'd  camel's  back. 

And  with  post-haste  thy  running  markets  make. 

Be  sure  to  turn  the  penny ;  lye  and  swear; 

'Tis  wholesome  sin. — But  Jove,  thou  say'st,  will  hear. — 

Swear,  fool,  or  starve  ;  for  the  dilemma's  even: 

A  tradesman  thou !  and  hope  to  go  to  Heav'n  ? 

Resolv'd  for  sea,  the  slaves  thy  baggage  pack, 
Each  saddled  with  his  burden  on  his  back  : 
[Nothing  retards  thy  voyage  now,  but  he. 
That  soft  voluptuous  prince,  call'd  Luxury ; 
And  he  may  ask  this  civil  question  :  Friend, 
What  dost  thou  make  a  shipboard  ?  to  what  end  ? 
Art  thou  of  Bethlem's  noble  college  free  ? 
Stark,  staring  mad,  that  thou  would'st  tempt  the  sea? 
Cubb'd  in  a  cabin,  on  a  mattress  laid. 
On  a  brown  George,  with  lousy  swabbers  fed; 
Dead  wine,  that  stinks  of  the  Borachio,  sup 
From  a  foul  jack,  or  greasy  maple  cup? 
Say,  would'st  thou  bear  all  this,  to  raise  thy  stoi'e 
From  six  i'the'  hundred  to  six  hundred  more? 
Indvlge,  and  to  thy  genius  freely  give ; 
For,  not  to  live  at  ease,  is  not  to  live  : 

1  V.  Boileau,  Sat.  iii. — who  has  imitated  this  passage  very 


IsTo.  55.] 


SPECTATOR, 


151 


Death  stalks  behind  thee,  and  each  flying  hour 
Does  some  loose  remnant  of  thy  life  devour. 
Live  while  thou  liv'st ;  for  death  will  make  us  all 
A  name,  a  nothing  but  an  old  wife's  tale. 
Speak ;  wilt  thou  Avarice  or  Pleasure  chuse 
To  be  thy  Lord  ;  Take  one ;  and  one  refuse. 

When  a  government  flourishes  in  conquests,  and  is  secure 
from  foreign  attacks,  it  naturally  falls  into  all  the  pleasures  of 
luxury  ;  and  as  these  pleasures  are  very  expensive,  they  put  those 
who  are  addicted  to  them  upon  raising  fresh  supplies  of  money, 
by  all  the  methods  of  rapaciousness  and  corruption  ;  so  that 
avarice  and  luxury  very  often  become  one  complicated  principle 
of  action,  in  those  whose  hearts  are  wholly  set  upon  ease, 
magnificence,  and  pleasure.  The  most  elegant  and  correct  of  all 
the  Latin  historians  observes,  that  in  his  time,  when  the  most 
formidable  states  of  the  world  were  subdued  by  the  Romans,  the 
republic  sunk  into  those  two  vices  of  a  quite  different  nature, 
luxury  and  avarice  ;  and  accordingly  describes  Catiline  as  one  who 
coveted  the  wealth  of  other  men,  at  the  same  time  that  he  squan- 
dered away  his  own.^  This  observation  on  the  commonwealth, 
when  it  was  in  its  height  of  power  and  riches,  holds  good  of  all 
governments  that  are  settled  in  a  state  of  ease  and  prosperity. 
At  such  times  men  naturally  endeavour  to  outshine  one  another 
in  pomp  and  splendor,  and  having  no  fears  to  alarm  them  from 
abroad,  indulge  themselves  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  pleasures 
they  can  get  into  their  possession ;  which  naturally  produces 
avarice,  and  an  immoderate  pursuit  after  wealth  and  riches. 

As  I  was  humouring  myself  in  the  speculation  of  these  two 
great  principles  of  action,  I  could  not  forbear  throwing  my 
thoughts  into  a  little  kind  of  allegory  or  fable,  with  which  T  shall 
here  present  my  reader. 

1  Alieni  appetens,  sui  prolusus.    Sall. — C. 


J52 


S  P  i:  C  T  A  T  O  R  . 


[Ko.  55. 


There  were  two  very  powerful  tyrants  engaged  in  a  perpetual 
war  against  each  other  :  the  name  of  the  first  was  Luxury,  and 
of  the  second  Avarice.  The  aim  of  each  of  them  was  no  less  than 
universal  monarchy  over  the  hearts  of  mankind.  Luxury  had 
many  generals  under  him,  who  did  him  great  service,  as  Pleasure, 
Mirth,  Pomp,  and  Fashion.  Avarice  was  likewise  very  strong  in 
his  officers,  being  faithfully  served  by  Hunger,  Industry,  Care, 
and  Watchfulness  :  he  had  likewise  a  privy-counsellor  who  was 
always  at  his  elbow,  and  whispering  something  or  other  in  his  ear  : 
the  name  of  this  privy-counsellor  was  Poverty.  As  Avarice 
conducted  himself  by  the  counsels  of  Poverty,  his  antagonist  was 
entirely  guided  by  the  dictates  and  advice  of  Plenty,  who  was  his 
first  counsellor  and  minister  of  state,  that  concerted  all  his  mea- 
sures for  him,  and  never  departed  out  of  his  sight.  While  these 
two  great  rivals  were  thus  contending  for  empire,  their  conquests 
were  very  various.  Luxury  got  possession  of  one  heart,  and 
Avarice  of  another.  The  father  of  a  family  would  often  range 
himself  under  the  banners  of  Avarice,  and  the  son  under  those 
of  Luxury.  The  wife  and  husband  would  often  declare  them- 
selves on  the  two  different  parties ;  nay,  the  same  person  would 
very  often  side  with  one  in  his  youth,  and  revolt  to  the  other  in 
his  old  a«:e.  Indeed,  the  wise  men  of  the  world  stood  neuter : 
but,  alas !  their  numbers  were  not  considerable.  At  length, 
when  these  two  potentates  had  wearied  themselves  with  waging 
war  upon  one  another,  they  agreed  upon  an  interview,  at  which 
neither  of  their  counsellors  were  to  be  present.  It  is  said  that 
Luxury  began  the  parley,  and  after  having  represented  the  end- 
less state  of  war  in  which  they  were  engaged,  told  his  enemy, 
with  a  frankness  of  heart  which  is  natural  to  him,  that  he  be- 
lieved they  two  should  be  very  good  friends,  were  it  not  for  the 
instigations  of  Poverty,  that  pernicious  counsellor,  who  made  an 
ill  use  of  his  ear,  and  filled  him  with  groundless  apprehensions 


No.  56.] 


SPECTATOR. 


153 


and  prejudices.  To  this  Avarice  replied,  that  he  looked  upon 
Plenty  (the  first  minister  of  his  antagonist)  to  be  a  much  more 
destructive  counsellor  than  Poverty,  for  that  he  was  perpetually 
suggesting  pleasures,  banishing  all  the  necessary  cautions  against 
want,  and  consequently  undermining  those  principles  on  which 
the  Government  of  Avarice  was  founded.  At  last,  in  order  to  an 
accommodation,  they  agreed  upon  this  preliminary ;  that  each  of 
them  should  immediately  dismiss  his  privy  counsellor.  When 
things  were  thus  far  adjusted  towards  a  peace,  all  other  differ- 
ences were  soon  accommodated,  insomuch,  that  for  the  future 
they  resolved  to  live  as  good  friends  and  confederates,  and  to 
share  between  them  whatever  conquests  were  made  on  either  side. 
For  this  reason,  we  now  find  Luxury  and  Avarice  taking  posses- 
sion of  the  same  heart,  and  dividing  the  same  person  between 
them.  To  which  I  shall  only  add,  that  since  the  discarding  of 
the  counsellors  above-mentioned.  Avarice  supplies  Luxury  in  the 
room  of  Plenty,  as  Luxury  prompts  Avarice  in  the  place  of 
Poverty.  C. 


No.  56.    FRIDAY,  MAY  4. 

Felices  errore  suo  

LucAN,  1. 1,  V.  455. 

Happy  ill  their  mistake. 

The  Americans  believe  that  all  creatures  have  souls,  not  only 
men  and  women,  but  brutes,  vegetables,  nay,  even  the  most  inani- 
mate things,  as  stocks  and  stones.  They  believe  the  same  of  all 
the  works  of  art,  as  of  knives,  boats,  looking-glasses  :  and  that  as 
any  of  these  things  perish,  their  souls  go  into  another  world, 
which  is  habited  bv  the  ghosts  of  men  and  women.    For  this  rea- 


154 


!?  r  E  C  T  A  T  O  R  . 


[No.  56. 


son  they  always  place  by  the  corpse  of  tlieir  dead  friend  a  bow  and 
arrows,  that  he  may  make  use  of  the  souls  of  them  in  the  other 
world,  as  he  did  of  their  w^ooden  bodies  in  this.  How  absurd 
soever  such  an  idea  as  this  may  appear,  our  European  philoso- 
phers have  maintained  several  notions  altogether  as  improbable. 
Some  of  Plato's  followers  in  particular,  when  they  talk  of  tlie 
world  of  ideas,  entertain  us  with  substances  and  beings  no  less 
extravagant  and  chimerical.  Many  Aristotelians  have  likewise 
spoken  as  unintelligibly  of  their  substantial  forms.  I  shall  only 
instance  Albertus  Magnus,  who  in  his  dissertation  upon  the  load 
stone,  observing  that  fire  will  destroy  its  magnetic  virtues,  tells 
us  that  he  took  particular  notice  of  one  as  it  lay  glowing  amidst 
an  heap  of  glowing  coals,  and  that  he  perceived  a  certain  blue 
vapour  to  arise  from  it,  which  he  believed  might  be  the  substan- 
tial form,  that  is,  in  our  West  Indian  phrase,  the  soul  of  the  load- 
stone. 

There  is  a  tradition  among  the  Am^ericans,  that  one  of  their 
countrymen  descended  in  a  vision  to  the  great  repository  of  souls, 
or,  as  we  call  it  here,  to  the  other  world  ;  and  that  upon  his  re- 
turn he  gave  his  friends  a  distinct  account  of  every  thing  he  saw 
among  those  regions  of  the  dead.  A  friend  of  mine,  w^hom  I 
have  formerly  mentioned,  prevailed  upon  one  of  the  interpreters 
of  the  Indian  kings, ^  to  inquire  of  them,  if  possible,  what  tra- 
dition they  have  among  them  of  this  matter;  which,  as  well  as 
he  could  learn  by  those  many  questions  which  he  asked  them  at 
several  times,  was  in  substance  as  follow^s. 

The  visionary,  whose  name  was  Marraton,  after  having  trav- 
elled for  a  long  space  under  an  hollow  mountain,  arrived  at  length 
on  the  confines  of  this  world  of  sj  irits;  but  could  not  enter  it 
by  reason  of  a  thick  forest  made  up  of  bushes,  brambles,  and 
pointed  thorns,  so  perplexed  and  interwoven  with  one  another, 
'  y.  Tailor  171— Speot.  50  ct^  r.utes.— C. 


^v  56.] 


S  1^  E  C  T  A  T  O  R  . 


155 


that  it  was  impossible  to  find  a  passage  through  it.  Whilst  he 
was  looking  about  Tor  some  track  or  path-way  that  might  be  worn 
in  any  part  of  it,  he  saw  an  huge  lion  couched  under  the  side  of 
itj  who  kept  his  eye  upon  him  in  the  same  posture  as  when  he 
watches  for  his  prey.  The  Indian  immediately  started  back, 
whilst  the  lion  rose  with  a  spring,  and  leaped  towards  him.  Be- 
ing wholly  destitute  of  all  other  weapons,  he  stooped  down  to 
take  up  an  huge  stone  in  his  hand  ;  but  to  his  infinite  surprise 
grasped  nothing,  and  found  the  supposed  stone  to  be  only  the  ap- 
parition of  one.  If  he  was  disappointed  on  this  side,  he  was  as 
much  pleased  on  the  other,  when  he  found  the  lion,  which  had 
seized  on  his  left  shoulder,  had  no  power  to  hurt  him,  and  was 
only  the  ghost  of  that  ravenous  creature  which  it  appeared  to  be. 
He  no  sooner  got  rid  of  his  impotent  enemy,  but  he  marched  up 
to  the  wood,  and  after  having  surveyed  it  for  some  time,  endea- 
voured to  press  into  one  part  of  it  that  was  a  little  thinner  than 
the  rest ;  when  again,  to  his  great  surprise,  he  found  the  bushes 
made  no  resistance,  but  that  he  walked  through  briars  and  bram- 
bles with  the  same  ease  as  through  the  open  air ;  and,  in  short, 
that  the  whole  wood  was  nothing  else  but  a  wood  of  shades.  He 
immediately  concluded,  that  this  huge  thicket  of  thorns  and  brakes 
was  designed  as  a  kind  of  fence  or  quick-set  hedge  to  the  ghosts 
it  enclosed  :  and  that  probably  their  soft  substances  might  be 
torn  by  these  subtle  points  and  prickles,  which  were  too  weak  to 
make  any  impressions  in  flesh  and  blood.  With  this  thought  he 
resolved  to  travel  through  this  intricate  wood ;  when  by  degrees 
he  felt  a  gale  of  perfumes  breathing  upon  him,  that  grew  strong- 
er and  sweeter  in  proportion  as  he  advanced.  He  had  not  pro- 
ceeded much  farther  when  he  observed  the  thorns  and  briars  to 
end,  and  give  place  to  a  thousand  beautiful  green  trees  covered 
with  blossoms  of  the  finest  scents  and  colours,  that  formed  a  wil- 
derness of  sweets,  and  were  a  kind  of  lining  to  those  ragged 


156 


SPECTATOR 


[N:  56. 


scenes  which  he  had  before  passed  through.  As  he  was  coming 
out  of  this  delightful  part  of  the  wood,  and 'entering  upon  the 
plains  it  enclosed,  he  saw  several  horsemen  rushing  by  him,  and 
a  little  while  after  heard  the  cry  of  a  pack  of  dogs.  He  had  not 
listened  long  before  he  saw  the  apparition  of  a  milk-white  steed, 
with  a  young  man  on  the  back  of  it,  advancing  upon  full  stretch 
after  the  souls  of  about  a  hundred  beagles  that  were  hunting 
down  the  ghost  of  a  hare,  which  ran  away  before  them  with  an  un- 
speakable swiftness.  As  the  man  on  the  milk-white  steed  came  by 
him,  he  looked  upon  him  very  attentively,  and  found  him  to  be 
the  young  prince  Nicharagua,  who  died  about  half  a  year  before, 
and  by  reason  of  his  great  virtues,  was  at  that  time  lamented 
over  all  the  western  parts  of  America. 

He  had  no  sooner  got  out  of  the  wood,  but"*  he  was  enter- 
tained with  such  a  landskip  of  flowry  plains,  green  meadows,  run- 
ning streams,  sunny  hills,  and  shady  vales,  jis  were  not  to  be 
represented  by  his  own  expressions,  nor,  as  he  said,  by  the  con- 
ceptions of  others.  This  happy  region  was  peopled  with  innu- 
merable swarms  of  spirits,  who  applied  themselves  to  exercises 
and  diversions  according  as  their  fancies  led  them.  Some  of 
them  were  tossing  the  figure  of  a  coit ;  others  were  pitching  the 
shadow  of  a  bar  ;  others  were  breaking  the  apparition  of  a  horse  : 
and  multitudes  employed  themselves  upon  ingenious  handicrafts 
with  the  souls  of  departed  utensils  ;  for  that  is  the  name  w^hich 
in  the  Indian  language  they  give  their  tools  when  they  are  burnt 
or  broken.  As  he  travelled  through  this  delightful  scene,  he 
was  very  often  tempted  to  pluck  the  flowers  that  rose  every  where 
about  him  in  the  greatest  variety  and  profusion,  having  never 
seen  several  of  them  in  his  own  country :  but  he  quickly  found, 
that  though  they  were  objects  of  his  sight,  they  were  not  liable 
to  his  touch.     He  at  length  came  to  the  side  of  a  great  river, 

But  ;  the  comparative  adverb  requires     than,'' — H. 


No.  5fi.] 


SPECTATOR. 


157 


and  being  a  good  fisherman  himself,  stood  upon  the  banks  of  it 
some  time  to  look  upon  an  angler  that  had  taken  a  great  many 
shapes  of  fishes^  which  lay  flouncing  up  and  down  by  him. 

T  should  have  told  my  reader,  that  this  Indian  had  been  for- 
merly married  to  one  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  his  country,  by 
whom  he  had  several  children.  This  couple  were  so  famous  for 
their  love  and  constancy  to  one  another,  that  the  Indians  to  this 
day,  when  they  give  a  married  man  joy  of  his  wife,  wish  that 
they  may  live  together  like  Marraton  and  Yaratilda.  Marraton 
had  not  stood  long  by  the  fisherman  when  he  saw  the  shadow  of 
his  beloved  Yaratilda,  who  had  for  some  time  fixed  her  eye  upon 
him,  before  he  discovered  her.  Her  arms  were  stretched  out  to- 
wards him,  floods  of  tears  ran  down  her  eyes  ;  her  looks,  her 
hands,  her  voice  called  him  over  to  her ;  and  at  the  same  time 
seemed  to  tell  him  that  the  river  was  unpassable.  Who  can  de- 
scribe the  passion  made  up  of  joy,  sorrow^,  love,  desire^  astonish- 
ment, that  rose  in  the  Indian  upon  the  sight  of  his  dear  Yaratil- 
da ?  he  could  express  it  by  nothing  but  his  tears,  which  ran  like  a 
river  down  -his  cheeks  as  he  looked  upon  her.  He  had  not  stood 
in  this  posture  long,  before  he  plunged  into  the  stream  that  lay 
before  him  ;  and  finding  it  to  be  nothing  but  the  phantom  of  a 
river,  stalked  on  the  bottom  of  it  till  he  arose  on  the  other  side. 
At  his  approach  Yaratilda  flew  into  his  arms,  whilst  Marraton 
wished  himself  disencumbered  of  that  body  which  kept  her  from 
his  embraces.  After  many  questions  and  endearments  on  both 
sides,  she  conducted  him  to  a  bower  which  she  had  dressed  with 
her  own  hands  with  all  the  ornaments  that  could  be  met  with  in 
those  blooming  regions.  She  had  made  it  gay  beyond  imagina- 
tion, and  was  every  day  adding  something  new  to  it.  As  Marra- 
ton stood  astonished  at  the  unspeakable  beauty  of  her  habitation, 
and  ravished  with  the  fragrancy  that  came  from  every  part  of  it, 
Yaratilda  told  him  that  she  was  preparing  this  bower  for  his  re- 


158 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  57 


ceptiori.  as  well  knowing  that  his  piety  to  his  God,  and  his  faith- 
ful dealiiig  towards  men,  would  certainly  bring  him  to  that  happy 
place,  whenever  his  life  should  be  at  an  end.  She  then  brought 
two  of  her  children  to  him,  who  died  some  years  before,  and  re- 
sided with  her  in  the  same  delightful  bower ;  advising  him  to 
breed  up  those  others  which  were  still  with  him  in  such  a  mai:- 
ner,  that  they  might  hereafter  all  of  them  meet  together  in  this 
happy  place. 

This  tradition  tells  us  further,  that  he  had  afterwards  a 
sight  of  those  dismal  habitations,  which  are  the  portion  of  ill 
men  after  death ;  and  mentions  several  molten  seas  of  gold,  in 
which  were  plunged  the  souls  of  barbarous  Europeans,  who  put 
to  the  sword  so  many  thousands  of  poor  Indians,  for  the  sake  of 
that  precious  metal :  but  having  already  touched  upon  the  chief 
points  of  this  tradition,  and  exceeded  the  measure  of  my  paper, 
I  shall  not  give  any  further  account  of  it.''  C. 


No.  57.    SATURDAY,  MAY  5. 

Quem  praestare  potestc  miilier  galeata  pudorem 
Quae  fugit  a  sexii  ? 

Juv.  Sat.  6,  251. 

What  sense  of  shame  in  -woman's  breast  can  lie, 
Inur'd  to  arms  and  lier  own  sex  to  fly  ? 

Drydex. 

When  the  wife  of  Hector,  in  Homer's  Iliads,  discourses  witli 
her  husband  about  the  battle  in  which  he  was  going  to  engage, 
the  hero,  desiring  her  to  leave  that  matter  to  his  care,  bids  her 
go  to  her  nuiids  and  mind  her  spinning :  by  which  the  poet 

'^Tliis  little  fiinciful  ])a])cr  is  w  ritten,  throui;-hout,  in  the  very  spirit  of 
its  author.  All  the  graces  of  imagination,  are  liere  joined  witli  all  the 
light  and  lustre  of  expression:  but  it  was  not  for  nothing  (as  the  conchnlinor 
mor.il  shews)  that  so  niucli  wil  and  elegance  w;is  enipU>ve  I  'Wi  this  subjeclf, 
Soe  his  introduction  to  No.  152,  in  the  Tat  lei-. — II 


No.  57.] 


SPECTATOR. 


159 


intimates,  that  men  and  women  ought  to  busy  themselves  in 
their  proper  spheres,  and  on  such  matters  only  as  are  suitable 
to  their  respective  sex. 

I  am  at  this  time  acquainted  with  a  young  gentleman,  who 
has  passed  a  great  part  of  his  life  in  the  nursery,  and  upon 
occasion,  can  make  a  caudle  or  a  sack  posset  better  than  any 
man  in  England.  He  is  likewise  a  wonderful  critic  in  cambric 
and  muslins,  and  will  talk  an  hour  together  upon  a  sweet-meat. 
He  entertains  his  mother  every  night  with  observations  that  he 
makes  both  in  town  and  court :  as  what  lady  shows  the  nicest 
fancy  in  her  dress  ;  what  man  of  quality  wears  the  fairest  wig  ; 
who  has  the  finest  linen,  who  the  prettiest  snuff-box,  with  many 
other  the  like  curious  remarks  that  may  be  made  in  good  com- 
pany. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  have  very  frequently  the  opportunity  of 
seeing  a  rural  Andromache,  who  came  up  to  town  last  winter, 
and  is  one  of  the  greatest  fox-hunters  in  the  country.  She 
talks  of  hounds  and  horses,  and  makes  nothing  of  leaping  over 
a  six-bar  gate.  If  a  man  tells  her  a  waggish  story,  she  gives 
him  a  push  with  her  hand  in  jest,  and  calls  him  an  impudent 
dog ;  and  if  her  servant  neglects  his  business,  threatens  to  kick 
him  out  of  the  house.  I  have  heard  her,  in  her  wrath,  call  a  sub- 
stantial tradesman  a  lousy  cur ;  and  remember  one  day,  when  she 
could  not  think  of  the  name  of  the  person,  she  described  him,  in  a 
large  company  of  men  and  ladies,  by  the  fellow  with  the  broad 
shoulders. 

If  those  speeches  and  actions,  which  in  their  own  nature  are 
indifferent,  appear  ridiculous  when  they  proceed  from  the  wrong 
sex,  the  faults  and  imperfections  of  one  sex  transplanted  into  ano- 
ther, appear  black  and  monstrous.  As  for  the  men,  I  shall  not 
in  this  paper  any  further  concern  myself  about  them  ;  but  as  I 
would  fain  contribute  to  make  woman-kind,  which  is  the  most 


160 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  57. 


beautiful  part  of  the  creation,  entirely  amiable,  and  wear  out  all 
those  little  spots  and  blemishes  that  are  apt  to  rise  among  the 
charms  which  nature  has  poured  out  upon  them,  I  shall  dedicate 
this  paper  to  their  service.  The  spot  which  I  would  here  endea- 
vour to  clear  them  of,  is  that  party-rage  which  of  late  years  is  very 
much  crept  into  their  conversation.  This  is,  in  its  nature,  a  male 
vice,  and  made  up  of  many  angry  and  cruel  passions  that  are  al- 
together repugnant  to  the  softness,  the  modesty,  and  those  endear- 
ing qualities  which  are  natural  to  the  fair  sex.  Women  were 
formed  to  temper  mankind,  and  soothe  them  into  tenderness  and 
compassion ;  not  to  set  an  edge  upon  their  minds,  and  blow  up 
in  them  those  passions  which  are  too  apt  to  rise  of  their  own  ac- 
cord. When  I  have  seen  a  pretty  mouth  uttering  calumnies  and 
invectives,  what  would  I  not  have  given  to  have  stopt  it?  how 
have  I  been  troubled  to  see  some  of  the  finest  features  in  the 
world  grow  pale,  and  tremble  with  party-rage  ?  Camilla  is  one 
of  the  greatest  beauties  in  the  British  nation,  and  yet  values  her- 
self more  upon  being  the  virago  of  one  party,  than  being  the  toast 
of  both.  The  dear  creature,  about  a  week  ago,  encountered  tht 
fierce  and  beautiful  Penthesilea  across  a  tea-table  ;  but  in  the 
height  of  her  anger,  as  her  hand  chanced  to  shake  with  the  ear- 
nestness of  the  dispute,  she  scalded  her  fingers,  and  spilt  a  dish 
of  tea  upon  her  petticoat.  Had  not  this  accident  broke  off  the 
debate,  no  body  knows  where  it  would  have  ended. 

There  is  one  consideration  which,  I  would  earnestly  recom- 
mend to  all  my  female  readers,  and  which,  I  hope,  will  have  some 
weight  with  them.  In  short,  it  is  this,  that  there  is  nothing  so 
bad  for  the  face  as  party-zeal.  It  gives  an  ill-natured  cast  to  the 
eye,  and  a  disagreeable  sourness  to  the  look ;  besides,  that  it 
makes  the  lines  too  strong,  and  flushes  them  worse  than  brandy. 
I  have  seen  a  woman's  face  break  out  in  heats,  as  she  has  been 
talking  against  a  great  lord,  whom  she  had  never  seen  in  her  life 


No.  57.] 


SPECTATOR. 


161 


and  indeed  never  knew  a  party-woman  that  kept  her  beauty  for 
a  twelvemonth.  I  would  therefore  advise  all  my  female  readers, 
as  they  value  their  complexions,  to  let  alone  all  disputes  of  this 
nature ;  though,  at  the  same  time  I  would  give  free  liberty  to  all 
superannuated  motherly  partizans  to  be  as  violent  as  they  please, 
since  there  will  be  no  danger  either  of  their  spoiling  their  faces, 
or  of  their  gaining  converts. 

For  my  own  part  I  think  a  man  makes  an  odious  and  despi- 
cable figure,  that  is  violent  in  a  party;  but  a  woman  is  too  sincere 
to  migitate  the  fury  of  her  principles  with  temper  and  discretion^ 
and  to  act  with  that  caution  and  reservedness  which  are  requi- 
site in  our  sex.  When  this  unnatural  zeal  gets  into  them,  it 
throws  them  into  ten  thousand  heats  and  extravagances ;  their 
generous  souls  set  no  bounds  to  their  love,  or  to  their  hatred ; 
and  whether  a  whig  or  tory,  a  lap-dog  or  a  gallant,  an  opera  or  a 
puppet-show,  be  the  object  of  it,  the  passion,  while  it  reigns,  en- 
grosses the  whole  woman. 

I  remember  when  Dr.  Titus  Oates  ^  was  in  all  his  glory,  I 
accompanied  my  friend  Will.  Honeycomb  in  a  visit  to  a  lady  of 
his  acquaintance  :  we  were  no  sooner  sat  down,  but  upon  casting 
my  eyes  about  the  room,  I  found  in  almost  every  corner  of  it  a 
print  that  represented  the  doctor  in  all  magnitudes  and  dimen- 
sions. A  little  after,  as  the  lady  was  discoursing  my  friend,  and 
held  her  snuff-box  in  her  hand,  ^'ho  should  I  see  in  the  lid  of  it 
but  the  doctor.  It  was  not  long  after  this,  when*she  had  occasion 
for  her  handkerchief,  which  upon  the  first  opening  discovered 
among  the  plaits  of  it  the  figure  of  the  doctor.  Upon  this  my 
friend  Will,  who  loves  raillery,  told  her,  that  if  he  was  in  Mr. 
True-love's  place  (for  that  was  the  name  of  her  husband)  he 

1  Though  the  name  of  Dr.  T.  Oates  is  made  use  of  here,  Dr.  Sacheverell 
is  the  person  alluded  to. — C. 


162 


SPECTATOR 


[Xo.  58 


should  be  made  as  uneasy  by  a  handkerchief  as  ever  Othello  was. 
*  I  am  afraid,  (said  she,)  Mr.  Honeycomb,  you  are  a  tory  :  tell 
me  truly,  are  you  a  friend  to  the  doctor  or  not  ?  '  Will,  instead 
of  making  her  a  reply,  smiled  in  her  face  (for  indeed  she  was  very 
pretty)  and  told  her,  that  one  of  her  patches  was  dropping  off. 
She  immediately  adjusted  it,  and  looking  a  little  seriously,  '  Well, 
(says  she)  111  be  hanged  if  you  and  your  silent  friend  there  are 
not  against  the  doctor  in  your  hearts  ;  I  suspected  as  much  by 
his  saying  nothing.'  Upon  this  she  took  her  fan  into  her  hand, 
and  upon  the  opening  of  it  again  displayed  to  us  the  figure  of  the 
doctor,  who  was  placed  with  great  gravity  among  the  sticks  of  it. 
In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  doctor  had  taken  possession  of  her 
thoughts,  her  discourse,  and  most  of  her  furniture;  but  finding 
myself  pressed  too  close  by  her  question,  I  winked  upon  my  friend 
to  take  his  leave,  which  he  did  accordingly.  C. 


No.  58.    MONDAY,  MAY  7. 

Ut  pictura  poesis  ei  it  

IIOK.  Ars.  Poet  v.  361. 

Poems  like  pictures  are. 

Nothing  is  so  much  admired,  and  so  little  understood,  as  wit. 
No  author  that  I  know  of  has  written  professedly  upon  it;  as  for 
those  who  make  any  mention  of  it,  they  only  treat  on  the  subject 
as  it  has  accidentally  fallen  in  their  way,  and  that  too  in  little 
short  reflections,  or  in  general  declamatory  flourishes,  without 
entering  into  the  bottom  of  the  matter.  I  hope,  therefore,  I  shall 
perform  an  acceptable  work  to  my  countrymen,  if  I  treat  at  large 


No.  58.] 


SPECTATOR. 


163 


upon  this  subject;''  which  I  shall  endeavour  to  do  in  a  manner 
suitable  to  it,  that  I  may  not  incur  the  censure  which  a  famous 
critic  bestows  upon  one  who  had  written  a  treatise  upon  the  sub- 
lime in  a  low  groveling  style.  I  intend  to  lay  aside  a  whole 
week  for  this  undertaking,  that  the  scheme  of  my  thoughts  may 
not  be  broken  and  interrupted  ;  and  I  dare  promise  myself,  if  my 
readers  will  give  me  a  week's  attention,  that  this  great  city  will 
be  very  much  changed  for  the  better  by  next  Saturday  night.  I 
shall  endeavour  to  make  what  I  say  intelligible  to  ordinary  capa- 
cities ;  but  if  my  readers  meet  with  any  paper  that  in  some  parts 
of  it  may  be  a  little  out  of  their  reach,  I  would  not  have  them 
discouraged,  for  they  may  assure  tliemselves  the  next  shall  be 
much  clearer. 

As  the  great  and  only  end  of  these  speculations,  is  to  banish 
vice  and  ignorance  out  of  the  territories  of  Great  Britain,  I  shall 
endeavour  as  much  as  possible  to  establish  among  us  a  taste  of 
polite  writing.  It  is  with  this  view  that  I  have  endeavoured  to 
set  my  readers  right  in  several  points  relating  to  operas  and  tra- 
gedies ;  and  shall  from  time  to  time  impart  my  notions  of  comedy, 
as  I  think  they  may  tend  to  its  refinement  and  perfection.  I  find 
by  my  bookseller  that  these  papers  of  criticism,  with  that  upon 
humour,  have  met  with  a  more  kind  reception  than,  indeed,  I 
30uld  have  hoped  for  from  such  subjects ;   for  which  reason  I 

"  What  the  author  calls  "  treating  at  large  upon  this  subject,'''  is  only  giv- 
ing the  history  of  false  wit,  in  the  four  first  of  these  papers;  a  general  idea 
of  the  true,  in  the  fifth,  and  a  recapitulation  of  the  whole,  by  way  of  vision, 
in  the  sixth.  An  accurate  treatise  on  this  nice  subject,  is  among  the  desi- 
derata of  literature.  However,  this  essay  upon  it,  so  far  as  it  goes,  is 
elegant  and  useful ;  and  such,  in  point  of  composition,  as  might  be  expect- 
ed from  Mr.  Addison,  when  he  took  time  and  pains  to  methodize  and  cor. 
rect  what  he  wrote  (which  Mi-.  Tickell  tells  us  was  the  case  with  lliese 
papers)  and  did  not  apply  himself  in  haste  to  print  an  occasional  entertain- 
ment for  the  day. — H. 


164 


SPECTATOR. 


[Na  58. 


shall  enter  upon  my  present  undertaking  with  greater  cheerful- 
ness. 

In  this^  and  one  or  two  following  papers,  I  shall  trace  out  the 
history  of  false  wit,  and  distinguish  the  several  kinds  of  it  as  they 
have  prevailed  in  different  ages  of  the  world.  This  I  think  the 
more  necessary  at  present,  because  I  observed  there  were  attempts 
on  foot  last  winter  to  revive  some  of  those  antiquated  modes  of 
wit  that  have  been  long  exploded  out  of  the  commonwealth  of 
letters.  There  were  several  satires  and  panegyrics  handed  about 
in  acrostic,  by  which  means  some  of  the  most  arrant  undisputed 
blockheads  about  the  town  began  to  entertain  ambitious  thoughts, 
and  to  set  up  for  polite  authors.  I  shall,  therefore,  describe  at 
length  those  many  arts  of  false  wit,  in  which  a  writer  does  not 
shew  himself  a  man  of  a  beautiful  genius,  but  of  great  industry. 

The  first  species  of  false  wit  which  I  have  mel  with,  is  very 
venerable  for  its  antiquity,  and  has  produced  several  pieces  which 
have  lived  very  near  as  long  as  the  Iliad  itself :  I  mean  those 
short  poems  printed  among  the  minor  Greek  poets,  which  resem- 
ble the  figure  of  an  egg,  a  pair  of  wings,  an  ax,  a  shepherd's  pipe, 
and  an  altar. 

As  for  the  first,  it  is  a  little  oval  poem,  and  may  not  improp- 
erly be  called  a  scholar's  egg.  I  would  endeavour  to  hatch  it,  or, 
in  more  intelligible  language,  to  translate  it  into  English,  did  not 
I  find  the  interpretation  of  it  very  difiicult ;  for  the  author  seems 
to  have  been  more  intent  upon  the  figure  of  his  poem,  than  upon 
the  sense  of  it. 

The  pair  of  wings  consists  of  twelve  verses,  or  rather  feathers, 
every  verse  decreasing  gradually  in  its  measure,  accordmg  to  its 
situation  in  the  wing.  The  subject  of  it  (as  in  the  rest  of  the 
poems  which  follow)  bears  some  remote  affinity  with  the  figure, 
for  it  describes  a  God  of  Love,  who  is  alwa}' s  painted  with  wings. 

The  ax,  methinks,  would  have  been  a  good  figure  for  a  lan> 


No.  58.] 


SPECTATOR. 


165 


poon,  had  the  edge  of  it  consisted  of  the  most  satirical  parts  of 
the  work ;  but  as  it  is  in  the  original,  I  take  it  to  have  been 
'nothing  else  but  the  poesy  of  an  ax  which  was  consecrated  to 
Minerva,  and  was  thought  to  have  been  the  same  that  Epeus 
made  use  of  in  the  building  of  the  Trojan  horse  ;  which  is  a  hint 
I  shall  leave  to  the  consideration  of  the  critics.  I  am  apt  to 
think  that  the  poesy  was  written  originally  upon  the  ax,  like 
those  which  our  modern  cutlers  inscribe  upon  their  knives ;  and 
that,  therefore,  the  poesy  still  remains  in  its  ancient  shape,  though 
the  ax  itself  is  lost. 

The  shepherd's  pipe  may  be  said  to  be  full  of  music,  for  it  is 
composed  of  nine  different  kinds  of  verses,  which  by  their  several 
lengths  resemble  the  nine  stops  of  the  old  musical  instrument, 
that  is  likewise  the  subject  of  the  poem. 

^  The  altar  is  inscribed  with  the  epitaph  of  Troilus,  the  son  of 
Hecuba ;  which,  by  the  way,  makes  me  believe  that  these  false 
pieces  of  wit  are  much  more  ancient  than  the  authors  to  whom 
they  arc  generally  ascribed ;  at  least  I  will  never  be  persuaded, 
that  so  fine  a  writer  as  Theocritus  could  have  been  the  author  of 
any  such  simple  works. 

It  was  impossible  for  a  man  to  succeed  in  these  performances 
who  was  not  a  kind  of  painter,  or  at  least  a  designer  :  he  was  first 
of  all  to  draw  the  outline  of  the  subject  which  he  intended  to 
write  upon,  and  afterwards  conform  the  description  to  the  figure 
of  his  subject.  The  poetry  was  to  contract  or  dilate  itself  ac- 
cording to  the  mould  in  which  it  was  cast.  In  a  word,  the  verses 
were  to  be  cramped  or  extended  to  the  dimensions  of  the  frame 
that  was  prepared  for  them ;  and  to  undergo  the  fate  of  those 
persons  whom  the  tyrant  Procrustes  used  to  lodge  in  his  iron 
"^  sd  :  if  they  were  too  short,  he  stretched  them  on  a  rack  ;  and  if 
r-  iey  were  too  long,  chopped  off  a  part  of  their  legs,  till  they  fitted 
I  couch  which  he  had  prepared  for  them. 


166 


SPECTATOR 


Mr.  Drjden  hints  at  this  obsolete  kind  of  wit  in  one  of  the 
•  following  verses  in  his  Mac  Flecno ;  which  an  English  reader 
cannot  understand,  who  does  not  know  that  there  are  those  little 
poems  above-mentioned  in  the  shape  of  wings  and  altars. 

 Choose  for  thy  command 

Some  peaceful  province  in  Acrostic  land; 

There  may'st  thou  wings  display,  and  altars  raise, 

And  torture  one  poor  word  a  thousand  ways. 

This  fashion  of  false  wit  was  revived  by  several  poets  of  the 
last  age,  and  in  particular  may  be  met  with  among  Mr.  Herbert's 
Poems  ;  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  in  the  translation  of  Du  Bar- 
tas.  I  do  not  remember  any  other  kind  of  work  among  the  mod- 
erns which  more  resembles  the  performances  I  have  mentioned, 
than  that  famous  picture  of  King  Charles  the  First,  which  has  the 
whole  book  of  Psalms  written  in  the  lines  of  the  face  and  the  hair 
of  the  head.  When  I  was  last  at  Oxford  I  perused  one  of  the 
whiskers  ;  and  was  reading  the  other,  but  could  not  go  so  far  in 
it  as  I  would  have  done,  by  reason  of  the  impatience  of  my  friends 
and  fellow-travellers,  who  all  of  them  pressed  to  see  such  a  piece 
of  curiosity.  I  have  since  heard,  that  there  is  now  an  eminent 
writing-master  in  town,  who  has  transcribed  all  the  Old  Testament 
in  a  full-bottomed  perriwig ;  and  if  the  fashion  should  introduce  the 
thick  kind  of  wigs  which  were  in  vogue  some  few  years  ago,  he 
promises  to  add  two  or  three  supernumerary  locks  that  shall  con- 
tain all  the  Apocrypha.  He  designed  this  wig  originally  for  King 
William,  having  disposed  of  the  two  books  of  Kings  in  the  two 
forks  of  the  fore  top  ;  but  that  glorious  monarch  dying  before  the 
wig  was  finished,  there  is  a  space  left  in  it  for  the  face  of  any  one 
that  has  a  mind  to  purchase  it. 

But  to  return  to  our  ancient  poems  in  picture,  I  would  hum- 
bly propose,  for  the  benefit  of  our  modern  smatterers  in  poetr}', 
that  they  would  imitate  their  brethren  among  the  ancients  in  those 


No.  59.] 


SPECTATOR. 


167 


ingenious  devices.  I  have  communicated  this  thought  to  a  joung 
poetical  lover  of  my  acquaintance,  who  intends  to  present  his 
mistress  with  a  copy  of  verses  made  in  the  shape  of  her  fan ;  and, 
if  he  tells  me  true,  has  already  finished  the  three  first  sticks  of 
it.  He  has  likewise  promised  me  to  get  the  measure  of  his  mis- 
tress's marriage  finger,  with  a  design  to  make  a  poesy  in  the  fash- 
ion of  a  ring  which  shall  exactly  fit  it.  It  is  so  very  easy  to  en- 
large upon  a  good  hint,  that  I  do  not  question  but  my  ingenious 
readers  will  apply  what  I  have  said  to  many  other  particulars  ; 
and  that  we  shall  see  the  t-own  filled  in  a  very  little  time  with 
t>oetical  tippets,  handkerchiefs,  snuff-boxes,  and  the  like  female 
ornaments.  I  shall  therefore  conclude  with  a  word  of  advice  to 
those  admirable  English  authors  who  call  themselves  Pindaric 
writers,  that  they  would  apply  themselves  to  this  kind  of  wit 
without  loss  of  time,  as  being  provided  better  than  any  other 
poets  with  verses  of  all  sizes  and  dimensions.  C. 


No.  59.    TUESDAY,  MAY  8. 

Operose  nihil  agimt. 

Sen. 

Busy  about  nothing. 

There  is  nothing  more  certain  than  that  every  man  would  be 
a  wit  if  he  could,  and,  notwithstanding  pedants  of  pretended 
depth  and  solidity  are  apt  to  decry  the  writings  of  a  polite  au- 
thor, as  flash  and*  froth,  they  all  of  them  shew  upon  occasion  that 
they  would  spare  no  pains  to  arrive  at  the  character  of  those 
whom  tliey  seem  to  despise.  For  this  reason  we  often  find  theui 
endeavouring  at  works  of  fancy,  which  cost  them  infinite  pangs  in 
the  production.     The  truth  of  it  is,  a  man  had  better  be  a  gal- 


168 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  59 


iey-slave  than  a  wit,  were  one  to  gain  that  title  by  those  elabo- 
rate trifles  which  have  been  the  inventions  of  such  authors  as 
were  often  masters  of  great  learning,  but  no  genius. 

In  my  last  paper  I  mentioned  some  of  these  false  wits  among 
the  ancients,  and  in  this  shall  give  the  reader  two  or  three  other 
species  of  them  that  flourished  in  the  same  early  ages  of  the 
world.  The  first  I  shall  produce  are  the  Lipogrammatists,  or 
letter-droppers  of  antiquity,  that  would  take  an  exception,  with- 
out any  reason,  against  some  particular  letter  in  the  alphabet,  so 
as  not  to  admit  it  once  into  a  whole  poem.  One  Tryphiodorus 
was  a  great  master  in  this  kind  of  writing.  He  composed  an 
Odyssey,  or  epic  poem,  on  the  adventures  of  Ulysses,  consisting 
of  four-and-twent}^  books,  having  entirely  banished  the  letter  A 
from  his  first  book,  which  was  called  Alpha  (as  lucus  a  non 
lucendo)  because  there  was  not  an  Alpha  in  it.  His  second  hook 
was  inscribed  Beta,  for  the  same  reason.  In  short,  the  poet  ex- 
cluded the  whole  four-and-twenty  letters  in  their  turns,  and 
showed  them,  one  after  another,  that  he  could  do  his  business 
without  them. 

It  must  have  been  very  pleasant  to  have  seen  this  poet  avoid- 
ing the  reprobate  letter,  as  much  as  another  would  a  false  quan- 
tity, and  making  his  escape  from  it  through  the  several  Greek 
dialects,  when  he  was  pressed  with  it  in  any  particular  syllable. 
For  the  most  apt  and  elegant  word  in  the  whole  language  was  re- 
jected, like  a  diamond  with  a  flaw  in  it,  if  it  appeared  blemished 
with  a  wrong  letter.  I  shall  only  observe  upon  this  head,  that 
if  the  work  I  have  here  mentioned  had  been  now  extant,  the 
Odyssey  of  Tryphiodorus,  in  all  probability,  would  have  been 
oftener  quoted  by  our  learned  pedants,  than  the  Odyssey  of 
Homer.  What  a  perpetual  fund  would  it  have  been  of  obsolete 
words  and  phrases,  unusual  barbarisms  and  rusticities,  absurd 
spellings  and  complicated  dialects  !    I  make  no  question  but  it 


No.  59.] 


SPECTAIOR. 


169 


would  have  been  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  valuable  treasu- 
ries of  the  Greek  tongue. 

I  find,  likewise,  among  the  ancients  that  ingenious  kind  of 
conceit,  which  the  moderns  distinguish  by  the  name  of  a  Eebus, 
that  does  not  sink  a  letter,  but  a  whole  word,  by  substituting  a 
picture  in  its  place.  When  Caesar  was  one  of  the  masters  of  the 
Roman  mint,  he  placed  the  figure  of  an  elephant  upon  the  reverse 
of  the  public  money;  the  word  Cassar  signifying  an, elephant 
in  the  Punic  language.  This  was  artificially  contrived  by 
Cassar,  because  it  was  not  lawful  for  a  private  man  to  stamp  his 
own  figure  upon  the  coin  of  the  commonwealth.  Cicero,  who  was 
so  called  from  the  founder  of  his  family,  that  was  marked  on  the 
nose  with  a  little  wen  like  a  vetch  ^  (which  is  cicer  in  Latin)  in- 
stead of  Marcus  TuUius  Cicero,  ordered  the  words  Marcus  Tul- 
lius,  with  the  figure  of  a  vetch  at  the  end  of  them  to  be  inscribed 
on  a  public  monument.  This  was  done  probably  to  shew  that  he 
was  neither  ashamed  of  his  name  or  family,  notwithstanding  the 
envy  of  his  competitors  had  often  reproached  him  with  both.  In 
the  same  manner  we  read  of  a  famous  building  that  was  marked 
in  several  parts  of  it  with  the  figures  of  a  frog  and  a  lizard : 
those  words  in  Greek  having  been  the  names  of  the  architects, 
who  by  the  laws  of  their  country  were  never  permitted  to  inscribe 
their  own  names  upon  their  works.  For  the  same  reason  it  is 
thought,  that  the  forelock  of  the  horse  in  the  antique-equestrian 
statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  represents  at  a  distance  the  shape  of 
an  owl,^  to  intimate  the  country  of  the  statuary,  who,  in  all  proba- 
bility, was  an  Athenian.    This  kind  of  wit  was  very  much  in 

1  Addison  follows  Plutarch  in  his  etymology  of  Cicer,  which  Pliny,  with 
far  more  probability,  attributes,  like  the  names  of  the  Fabii,  Lentuli,  <fec., 
to  the  reputation  their  families  had  acquired  for  the  cultivation  of  those 
plants.  Y.  Pliny  Hist.  Nat.  18,  3,  1;  and  Middleton,  Life  of  Cicero,  v.  1, 
p.  7.— G. 

2  V.  vol.  2d,  p.  151.    Note.— G. 

VOL.   V. — 8 


170 


SPECTATOR. 


[Xo.  55 


vogue  among  our  own  countrymen  about  an  age  or  two  ago,  who 
did  not  practise  it  for  any  oblique  reason,  as  the  ancients  above- 
mentioned,  but  purely  for  the  sake  of  being  witty.  Among  in- 
numerable instances  that  may  be  given  of  this  nature,  I  shall 
produce  the  device  of  one  Mr.  Newberry,  as  I  find  it  mentioned 
by  our  learned  Camden  in  his  remains.  Mr.  Newberry,  to  repre- 
sent his  name  by  a  picture,  hung  up  at  his  door  the  sign  of  a 
yew-tree,  that  had  several  berries  upon  it,  and  in  the  midst  of 
them  a  great  golden  N  hung  upon  a  bough  of  the  tree,  which  by 
the  help  of  a  little  false  spelling  made  up  the  word  N-ew  herry. 

I  shall  conclude  this  topic  with  a  Rebus,  which  has  been  late- 
ly hewn  out  in  free-stone,  and  erected  over  two  of  the  portals  of 
Blenheim  house,  being  the  figure  of  a  monstrous  lion  tearing  to 
pieces  a  little  cock.  For  the  better  understanding  of  which  de- 
vice, I  must  acquaint  my  English  reader,  that  a  cock  has  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  called  in  Latin  by  the  same  word  that  signifies  a 
French-man,  as  a  lion  is  the  emblem  of  the  English  nation.  Such 
a  device  in  so  noble  a  pile  of  building,  looks  like  a  pun  in  an  he- 
roic poem ;  and  I  am  very  sorry  the  truly  ingenious  architect 
would  suffer  the  statuary  to  blemish  his  excellent  plan  with  so 
poor  a  conceit ;  but  I  hope  what  I  have  said  will  gain  quarter 
for  the  cock,  and  deliver  him  out  of  the  lion's  paw. 

I  find  likewise  in  ancient  times  the  conceit  of  making  an  echo 
talk  sensibly,  and  give  rational  answers.  If  this  could  be  ex- 
cusable in  any  writer,  it  would  be  in  Ovid,  where  he  introduces 
the  echo  as  a  nymph,  before  she  was  worn  away  into  nothing  but 
a  voice.  The  learned  Erasmus,  though  a  man  of  wit  and  genius, 
*has  composed  a  dialogue  upon  this  silly  kind  of  device,  and  made 
use  of  an  echo,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  very  extraordinary  lin- 
guist, for  she  answers  the  person  she  talks  with  in  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Hebrew,  according  as  she  found  the  syllables  which  she  was 


No.  59.1 


SPECTATOR. 


17. 


to  repeat  in  any  of  those  learned  languages.^  Hudibras,  in  ridi- 
cule of  this  false  kind  of  wit,  has  described  Bruin  bewailing  the 
loss  of  his  bear  to  a  solitary  echo,  who  is  of  great  use  to  the  poet 
in  several  distichs,  as  she  does  not  only  repeat  after  him,  but 
helps  out  his  verse,  and  furnishes  him  with  rhymes. 

He  raged,  and  kept  as  heavy  a  coil  as 
Stout  Hercules  for  loss  of  Hylas  ; 
Forcing  the  vallies  to  repeat 
The  accents  of  his  sad  regret; 
He  beat  his  breast,  and  tore  his  hair, 
For  loss  of  his  dear  crony  Bear, 
That  Echo  from  the  hollow  ground 
His  doleful  wailings  did  resound 
More  wistfully,  by  many  times. 
Than  in  small  poets  splay-foot  rhymes. 
That  make  her  in  their  rueful  stories. 
To  answer  to  int'rogatories, 
And  most  -unconscionably  depose 
Things  of  which  she  nothing  knows: 
And  when  she  has  said  all  she  can  say 
'Tis  wrested  to  the  lover's  fancy. 
Quoth  he,  0  whither,  wicked  Bruiny 

Art  thou  fled  to  my  Echo,  Ruin? 

I  thought  th'hadst  scorn'd  to  budge  a  step 

For  fear — (Quoth  Echo)  Marry  guep. 

Am  I  not  here  to  take  thy  part? 

Then  what  has  quell'd  thy  stubborn  heart? 

Have  these  bones  rattled,  and  this  head 

So  often  in  thy  quarrel  bled  ? 

Nor  did  I  ever  winch  or  grudge  it, 

For  thy  dear  sake  ? — (Quoth  she)  Mum  budget, 

Think'st  thou  'twill  not  be  laid  i'  th'  dish 

Thou  turnd'st  thy  back?  quoth  Echo,  Pish. 

To  run  from  thofe  th'hadst  overcome 

Thus  cowardly  ?  quoth  Echo,  Mum,. 

1  Juvenis,  Echo — Juvenis  consults  Echo  about  his  studies,  and  Echo  an- 
swers in  Latin  and  Greek,  but  not  in  Hebrew.  The  young  man  asks — 
Quid  captant  plerique,  qui  ambiunt  sacerdotium  ?  To  which  Echo  replies 
— Otium.  Praeterea  nihil  habet  sacerdos?  asks  the  j^outh — KipBos.  Juv.— 
Decem  jam  annos  trivi  in  Cicerone.  Echo— ''Oi/e.  V.  Erasm.  Colloq.  p.  32'i 
&  28,    Ed.  Lend. 


172 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  60 


But  what  a-rengeance  makes  thee  flj 

From  me  too,  as  thine  enemy? 

Or  if  thou  hadst  no  thought  of  me, 

Nor  what  i  have  endur'd  for  thee, 

Yet  shame  and  honor  might  prevail 

To  keep  thee  thus  from  turning  tail ; 

For  who  wou'd  grudge  to  spend  his  blood  in 

His  honour's  cause  ?    Quoth  she,  A  pudding.  C. 


No.  60.    WED^^ESDAY,  MAY  9. 

Hoc  est  quod  palles  ?  cur  quis  non  prandeat,  hoc  est  ? 

Peks.  Sat.  8.  V.  85. 

Is  it  for  this  you  gain  those  meagre  looks, 
And  sacrifice  your  dinner  to  your  books  ? 

Several  kinds  of  false  wit  that  vanished  in  the  refined  ages  of 
the  world,  discovered  themselves  again  in  the  times  of  monkish 
ignorance. 

As  the  monks  were  the  masters  of  all  that  little  learning, 
which  was  then  extant,  and  had  their  whole  lives  entirely  disen- 
gaged from  business,  it  is  no  wonder  that  several  of  them,  who 
wanted  genius  for  higher  performances,  employed  many  hours  in 
the  composition  of  such  tricks  in  writing  as  required  much  time 
and  little  capacity.  I  have  seen  half  the  ^neid  turned  into 
Latin  rhymes  by  one  of  the  Beaux  Esprits  of  that  dark  age  ; 
who  says  in  his  preface  to  it,  that  the  JEneid  wanted  nothing  but 
the  sweets  of  rhyme  to  make  it  the  most  perfect  work  in  its  kind. 
I  have  likewise  seen  an  hymn  in  hexameters  to  the  virgin  Mary, 
which  filled  a  whole  book,  though  it  consisted  but  of  the  eight 
following  words ; 

Tot,  tibi,  sunt,  Yirgo,  dotes,  quot,  sidera,  Cielo. 
*  Thou  hast  as  many  virtues,  0  virgin,  as  there  are  stars  in  heaven.* 

The  poet  rung  the  changes  upon  these  eight  several  words, 


No.  60.] 


SPECTATOR. 


173 


and  by  that  means  made  his  verses  almost  as  numerous  as  the 
virtues  and  the  stars  which  they  celebrated.  It  is  no  wonder 
that  men  who  had  so  much  time  upon  their  hands,  did  not  only 
restore  all  the  antiquated  pieces  of  false  wit,  but  enriched  the 
world  with  inventions  of  their  own.  It  was  to  this  age  that  we 
owe  the  production  of  anagrams,  which  is  nothing  else  but  a  trans- 
mutation of  one  word  into  another,  or  the  turning  of  the  same 
set  of  letters  into  different  words ;  which  may  change  night  into 
day,  or  black  into  white,  if  chance,  who  is  the  goddess  that  pre- 
sides over  these  sorts  of  composition,  shall  so  direct.  I  remem- 
ber a  witty  author,  in  allusion  to  this  kind  of  writing,  calls  his 
rival,  who  (it  seems)  was  distorted,  and  had  his  limbs  set  in  places 
that  did  not  properly  belong  to  them,  ^  The  Anagram  of  a 
Man.' 

When  the  anagrammatist  takes  a  name  to  work  upon,  he  con- 
siders it  at  first  as  a  mine  not  broken  up,  which  will  not  shew  the 
treasure  it  contains  till  he  shall  have  spent  many  hours  in  the 
search  of  it ;  for  it  is  his  business  to  find  out  one  word  that  con- 
ceals itself  in  another,  and  to  examine  the  letters  in  all  the  variety 
of  stations,  in  which  they  can  possibly  be  ranged.  I  have  heard  of 
a  gentleman  who,  when  this  kind  of  wit  was  in  fashion,  endeavour- 
ed to  gain  his  mistress's  heart  by  it.  She  was  one  of  the  finest 
women  of  her  age,  and  known  by  the  name  of  the  Lady  Mary 
Boon.  The  lover  not  being  able  to  make  any  thing  of  Mary,  by 
certain  liberties  indulged  to  this  kind  of  writing,  converted  it 
into  Moll;  and  after  having  shut  himself  up  for  half  a  year,  with 
indefatigable  industry  produced  an  anagram.  Upon  presenting 
it  to  his  mistress,  who  was  a  little  vexed  in  her  heart  to  see  her- 
self degraded  into  Moll  Boon,  she  told  him,  to  his  infinite  sur- 
prise, that  he  had  mistaken  her  surname,  for  that  it  was  not  Boon^ 
but  Bohun. 


174 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  60. 


 omnis 

Effusus  labor  

The  lover  was  thunder-struck  with  his  misfortune,  insomuch, 
that  in  a  little  time  after  he  lost  his  senses,  which,  indeed,  had 
been  very  much  impaired  by  that  continual  application  he  had 
given  to  his  anagram. 

The  acrostic  was  probably  invented  about  the  same  time  with 
the  anagram,  though  it  is  impossible  to  decide  whether  the 
inventor  of  the  one  or  the  other  were  the  greater  blockhead. 
The  simple  acrostic  is  nothing  but  the  name  or  title  of  a  person 
or  thing  made  out  of  the  initial  letters  of  several  verses,  and  by 
that  means  written,  after  the  manner  of  the  Chinese,  in  a  per- 
pendicular line.  But  besides  these  there  are  compound  aqros- 
tics,  when  the  principal  letters  stand  two  or  three  deep.  I  have 
seen  some  of  them  where  the  verses  have  not  only  been  edged  by 
a  name  at  each  extremity,  but  have  had  the  same  name  running 
down  like  a  seam  through  the  middle  of  the  poem. 

There  is  another  near  relation  of  the  anagrams  and  acrostics, 
which  is  commonly  called  a  chronogram.  This  kind  of  wit  ap- 
pears very  open  on  many  modern  medals,  especially  those  of 
Germany,  when  they  represent  in  the  inscription  the  year  in 
which  they  were  coined.  Thus  we  see  on  a  medal  of  Gustavus 
Adolphus  the  following  words,  ChrIstVs  DuX  ergo  trI- 
VMphVs.  If  you  take  the  pains  to  pick  the  figures  out  of  the 
several  words,  and  range  them  in  their  proper  order,  you  will 
find  them  amount  to  MDCXVVYII.,  or  1627,  the  year  in 
which  the  medal  was  stamped.  For  as  some  of  the  letters  dis- 
tinguish themselves  from  the  rest,  and  over-top  their  fellows, 
they  are  to  be  considered  in  a  double  capacity,  both  as  letters 
and  as  figures.  Your  laborious  German  wits  will  turn  over  a 
whole  dictionary  for  one  of  these  ingenious  devices.  A  man 
would  think  they  were  searching  for  an  apt  classical  terra,  but 


No.  60.] 


SPECTATOR. 


175 


instead  of  that,  they  are  looking  out  a  word  that  has  an  L, 
an  M,  or  a  D  in  it.  Wlien,  therefore,  we  meet  with  any  of 
these  inscriptions,  we  are  not  so  much  to  look  in  them  for  the 
thought,  as  for  the  year  of  the  Lord. 

,  The  Bouts-Rimez  were  the  favourites  of  the  French  nation 
for  a  whole  age  together,  and  that  at  a  time  when  it  abounded  in 
wit  and  learning.  They  were  a  list  of  words  that  rhyme  to  one 
another,  drawn  up  by  another  hand  and  given  to  a  poet,  who  was 
to  make  a  poem  to  the  rhymes  in  the  same  order  that  they  were 
placed  upon  the  list :  the  more  uncommon  the  rhymes  were,  the 
more  extraordinary  was  the  genias  of  the  poet  that  could  accom- 
modate his  verses  to  them.  I  do  not  know  any  greater  in- 
stance of  the  decay  of  wit  and  learning  among  the  French  (which 
generally  follows  the  declension  of  empire)  than  the  endeavouring 
to  restore  this  foolish  kind  of  wit.  If  the  reader  will  be  at  the 
trouble  to  see  examples  of  it,  let  him  look  into  the  new  Mercure 
Grallant,- where  the  author  every  month  gives  a  list  of  rhymes  to 
be  filled  up  by  the  ingenious,  in  order  to  be  communicated  to  the 
public  in  the  Mercure  for  the  succeeding  month.  That  for  the 
month  of  November  last,  which  now  lies  before  me,  is  as  fol- 
lows : 

 Lauriers 

 Guerriers 

 ^  Musette 

 Lisette 

 Cesars 

 Etendars 

 Houlette 

  Folette 

One  would  be  amazed  to  see  so  learned  a  man  as  Menage  talking 
seriously  on  this  kind  of  trifle  in  the  following  passage. 


*76 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  60. 


*  Monsieur  de  la  Chambre  has  told  me,  that  he  never  knew 
what  he  was  going  to  write  when  he  took  his  pen  into  his  hand  ; 
but  that  one  sentence  always  produced  another.  For  iny  own 
part,  I  never  knew  what  I  should  write  next  when  I  was  making 
verses.  In  the  first  place,  I  got  all  my  rhymes  together,  and 
was  afterwards,  perhaps,  three  or  four  months  in  filling  them  up. 
I  one  day  shewed  Monsieur  Gombaud  a  composition  of  this 
nature,  in  which  among  others  I  had  made  use  of  the  four  follow- 
ing rhymes,  Amaryllis,  Phyllis,  Marne,  Arne,  desiring  him  to 
give  me  his  opinion  of  it.  He  told  me  immediately  that  my 
verses  were  good  for  nothing.  And  upon  my  asking  his  reason, 
he  said,  because  the  rhymes  are  too  common;  and  for  that  reason 
easy  to  be  put  into  verse.  Marry,  says  I,  if  it  be  so,  I  am  very 
well  rewarded  for  all  the  pains  I  have  been  at.  But  by  Monsieur 
Gombaud's  leave,  notwithstanding  the  severity  of  the  criticism, 
the  verses  were  good.'  Yid  Menagiana.^  Thus  far  the  learned  « 
Menage,  whom  I  have  translated  word  for  word. 

The  first  occasion  of  these  Bouts  Rimez  made  them  in  some 
manner  excusable,  as  they  were  tasks  which  the  French  ladies 
used  to  impose  on  their  lovers.  But  when  a  grave  author,  like 
him  above-mentioned,  tasked  himself,  could  there  be  any  thing 
more  ridiculous  ?  or  would  not  one  be  apt  to  believe  that  the 
author  played  booty,  and  did  not  make  his  list  of  rhymes  till  he 
had  finished  his  poem  ? 

I  shall  only  add,  that  this  piece  of  false  wit  has  been  finely 
ridiculed  by  Monsieur  Sarasin,  in  a  poem  entituled,  La  Defaite 
des  Bouts-Rimez^  '  The  rout  of  the  Bouts-Eimez.' 

I  must  subjoin  to  this  last  kind  of  wit  the  double  rhymes, 
which  are  used  in  doggerel  poetry,  and  generally  applauded  by 
ignorant  readers.    If  the  thought  of  the  couplet  in  such  composi 

1  Tom.  1,  p.  174,       Ed.  Amst.  1713.— 0. 


rrECTATOa. 


177 


tions  is  good,  the  rhyme  adds  little  to  it ;  and  if  bad,  it  will  not 

be  in  the  power  of  the  rhyme  to  recommend  it.  I  am  afraid  that 
great  numbers  of  those  who  admire  the  incomparable  Hudibras, 
do  it  more  on  account  of  these  doggerel  rhymes,  than  of  the  parts 
that  really  deserve  admiration.    I  am  sure  I  have  heard  the 

Pulpit,  drum  ecclesiastic, 

Was  beat  with  fist  instead  of  a  stick ; 

There  was  an  ancient  sage  philosopher, 
Who  had  read  Alexander  Ross  over; 

more  frequently  quoted,  than  the  finest  pieces  of  wit  in  the  whole 
poem.  C. 


No.  61.    THURSDAY,  MAY  10. 

Non  equidem  studeo,  bullatis  ut  mihi  nngis 
Pagina  turgescat,  dare  pondus  idonea  fumo. 

Pers. 

'Tis  not  indeed  my  talent  to  engage 
In  lofty  trifles,  or  to  swell  my  page 
With  wind  and  noise. 

There  is  no  kind  of  false  wit  which  has  been  so  recommended 
by  the  practice  of  all  ages,  as  that  which  consists  in  a  jingle  of 
wordSj  and  is  comprehended  under  the  general  name  of  punning. 
It  is,  indeed,  impossible  to  kill  a  weed,  which  the  soil  has  a 
natural  disposition  to  produce.  The  seeds  of  punning  are  in  the 
minds  of  all  men,  and  though  they  may  be  subdued  by  reason ^ 
reflection,  and  good  sense,  they  will  be  very  apt  to  shoot  up  in  the 
greatest  genius,  that  is  not  broken  and  cultivated  by  the  rules  of 
art.    Imitation  is  natural  to  us,  and  when  it  does  not  raise  the 

TOT,.     V.  8* 


SPECTATOR. 


mind  to  poetry,  painting,  music,  or  other  more  noble  arts,  it 
often  breaks  out  in  puns  and  quibbles. 

Aristotle,  in  the  eleventh  chapter  of  his  book  of  rhetoric,  de- 
scribes two  or  three  kinds  of  puns,  which  he  calls  paragrams, 
among  the  beauties  of  good  writing,  and  produces  instances  of 
them  out  of  some  of  the  greatest  authors  in  the  Greek  tongue. 
Cicero  has  sprinkled  several  of  his  works  with  puns,  and  in  his 
book  where  he  lays  down  the  rules  of  oratory,  quotes  abundance 
of  sayings  as  pieces  of  wit,  w^hich  also  upon  examination  prove 
arrant  puns.  But  the  age  in  which  the  pun  chiefly  flourished, 
was  the  reign  of  king  James  the  first.  That  learned  monarch 
was  himself  a  tolerable  punster,  and  made  very  few  bishops  or 
privy-counsellors  that  had  not  some  time  or  other  signalized 
themselves  by  a  clinch  or  a  conundrum.  It  was  therefore  in  this 
age  that  the  pun  appeared  with  pomp  and  dignity.  It  had  before 
been  admitted  into  merry  speeches  and  ludicrous  compositions, 
but  was  now  delivered  with  great  gravity  from  the  pulpit,  or 
pronounced  in  the  most  solemn  manner  at  the  council  table.  The 
greatest  authors,  in  their  most  serious  works,  made  frequent  use 
of  puns.  The  sermons  of  Bishop  Andrews,  and  the  tragedies  of 
Shakespear,  are  full  of  them.  The  sinner  w^as  punned  into  repent- 
ance by  the  former,  as  in  the  latter  nothing  is  more  usual  than 
to  see  a  hero  weeping  and  quibbling  for  a  dozen  lines  together. 

I  must  add  to  these  great  authorities,  w^iich  seem  to  have 
given  a  kind  of  sanction  to  this  piece  of  false  wit,  that  all  the 
writers  of  rhetoric  have  treated  of  punning  with  very  great  re- 
spect, and  divided  the  several  kinds  of  it  into  hard  names,  that 
are  reckoned  among  the  figures  of  speech,  and  recommended  as 
ornaments  in  discourse.  I  remember  a  country  school-master  of 
my  acquaintance  told  me  once,  that  he  had  been  in  company  with 
a  gentleman  whom  he  looked  upon  to  be  the  greatest  Paragram- 
matist  among  the  moderns.    Upon  inquiry,  I  found  my  learned 


N'o  61J 


SPECTATOR, 


179 


friend  had  dined  that  day  with  Mr.  Swan,  the  famous  punster  ; 
and  desiring  hiui  to  give  me  some  account  of  Mr.  Swan's  conver- 
sation, he  told  me  that  he  generally  talked  in  the  Paranomasia,' 
that  he  sometimes  gave  into  the  Ploce,  but  that  in  his  humble 
opinion  he  shined  most  in  the  Antanaclasis. 

I  must  not  here  omit,  that  a  famous  university  of  this  land 
was  formerly  very  much  infested  with  puns  ;  but  whether  or  no 
this  might  not  arise  from  the  fens  and  marshes  in  which  it  was 
situated,  and  which  are  now  drained,  I  must  leave  to  the  deter- 
mination of  more  skilful  naturalists. 

After  this  short  history  of  punning,  one  would  wonder  how  it 
should  be  so  entirely  banished  out  of  the  learned  world,  as  it  is 
at  present,  especially  since  it  had  found  a  place  in  the  writings  of 
the  most  ancient  polite  authors.  To  account  for  this  we  must 
consider,  that  the  first  race  of  authors  who  were  the  great  heroes 
in  writing,  were  destitute  of  all  rules  and  arts  of  criticism  ;  and 
for  that  reason,  though  they  excel  later  writers  in  greatness  of 
genius,  they  fall  short  of  them  in  accuracy  and  correctness.  The 
moderns  cannot  reach  their  beauties,  but  can  avoid  their  Imper- 
fections. When  the  world  was  furnished  with  these  authors  of 
the  first  eminence,  there  grew  up  another  set  of  writers,  who 
gained  themselves  a  reputation  by  the  remarks  which  they  made 
on  the  works  of  those  who  preceded  them.  It  was  one  of  the 
employments  of  these  secondary  authors,  to  distinguish  the  seve- 
ral kinds  of  wit  by  terms  of  art,  and  to  consider  them  as  more  or 
less  perfect,  according  as  they  were  founded  in  truth.  It  is  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  even  such  authors  as  Isocrates,  Plato,  and 
Cicero,  should  have  such  little  blemishes  as  are  not  to  be  met 

^  Paranomasia — using  words  that  resemble  each  other  in  sound.   Ploch  . 
— a  play  upon  words  by  repeating  them  in  various  ways,  of  Avhich  Symploce 
Anadiplosis  are  varieties.    Antanaclasis — use  of  the  same  word  in  different 
senses. — G. 


180 


SPECTATOR. 


I  No.  40 


with  in  authors  of  a  much  inferior  character,  who  have  written 
since  those  several  blemishes  were  discovered.  I  do  not  find  that 
there  was  a  proper  separation  made  between  puns  and  true  wit 
by  any  of  the  ancient  authors,  except  Quintilian  and  Longinus. 
But  when  this  distinction  was  once  settled,  it  was  very  natural 
for  all  men  of  sense  to  agree  in  it.  As  for  the  revival  of  this 
false  wit,  it  happened  about  the  time  of  the  revival  of  letters  ;  but 
as  soon  as  it  was  once  detected,  it  immediately  vanished  and  dis- 
appeared. At  the  same  time  there  is  no  question,  but  as  it  has 
sunk  in  one  age,  and  rose  in  another,  it  will  again  recover  itself 
in  some  distant  period  of  time,  as  pedantry  and  ignorance  shall 
prevail  upon  wit  and  sense.  And,  to  speak  the  truth,  I  do  very 
much  apprehend,  by  some  of  the  last  winter's  productions,  which 
had  their  sets  of  admirers,  that  our  posterity  will  in  a  few  years 
degenerate  into  a  race  of  punsters  :  at  least,  a  man  may  be  very 
excusable  for  any  apprehensions  of  this  kind,^at  has  seen  acros- 
tics handed  about  the  town  with  great  secresy  and  applause  ;  to 
which  I  must  also  add  a  little  epigram  called  the  Witch's  Prayer, 
that  fell  into  verse  when  it  was  read  either  backward  or  forward, 
excepting  only  that  it  cursed  one  way  and  blessed  the  other. 
When  one  sees  there  are  actually  such  painstakers  amoi  g  our 
British  wits,  who  can  tell  what  it  may  end  in  ?  If  we  must  lash 
one  another,  let  it  be  with  the  manly  strokes  of  wit  and  satire  ; 
for  I  am  of  the  old  philosopher's  opinion,  that  if  I  must  suffer 
from  one  or  the  other,  I  would  rather  it  should  be  from  the  paw 
of  a  lion,  than  the  hoof  of  an  ass.  I  do  not  speak  this  out  of  any 
spirit  of  party.  There  is  a  most  crying  dulness  on  both  sides.  I 
have  seen  Tory  acrostics,  and  Whig  anagrams,  and  do  not  quar- 
rel with  either  of  them,  because  they  are  Whigs  or  Tories,  but 
because  they  are  anagrams  and  acrostics. 

But  to  return  to  punning.  Having  pursued  the  history  of  a 
pun,  from  its  original  to  its  downfallj  I  shall  here  define  it  to  be  a 


SPECTATOR. 


181 


conceit  arising  from  the  use  of  two  words  that  agree  in  the  sound 
but  differ  in  the  sense.  The  only  way,  therefore,  to  try  a  piece  of 
wit,  is  to  translate  it  into  a  different  language  :  if  it  bears  the  test, 
you  may  pronounce  it  true ;  but  if  it  vanishes  in  the  experiment, 
you  may  conclude  it  to  have  been  a  pun.  In  short,  one  may  say  of  a 
pun  as  the  countryman  described  his  nightingale,  that  is,  vox  etj^^rce- 
terea  nihil ;  a  sound,  and  nothing  but  a  sound.  On  the  contrary, 
one  may  represent  true  wit  by  the  description  which  Aristenetus 
makes  of  a  fine  woman ;  when  she  is  dressed,  she  is  beautiful ; 
when  she  is  undressed,  she  is  beautiful  :  or,  as  Mercerus  has 
translated  it  more  emphatically,  Induitor^  foi'mosa  est :  JExui- 
tuTj  ipsa  forma  est}  C. 


No.  62.    FRIDAY,  MAY  11. 

Scribendi  recte  sapere  est  et  principium  et  fons. 

HOR. 

Hound  judgment  is  the  ground  of  writing  well. 

EoSCOMMON. 

Mr.  Locke  has  an  admirable  reflection  upon  the  difference  of 
wit  and  judgment,  whereby  he  endeavours  to  shew  the  reason  why 
they  are  not  always  the  talents  of  the  same  person.  His  words 
are  as  follow :  ^  And  hence,  perhaps,  may  be  given  some  reason 
of  that  common  observation,  that  men  who  have  a  great  deal  of 
wit,  and  prompt  memories,  have  not  always  the  clearest  judgment, 
or  deepest  reason.  For  wit  lying  most  in  the  assemblage  of  ideas, 
and  putting  those  together  with  quickness  and  variety,  wherein 
can  be  found  any  resemblance  and  congruity,  thereby  to  make  up 
pleasant  pictures  and  agreeable  visions  in  the  fancy ;  judgment, 

1  Dressed  she  is  beautiful :  undressed  she  is  beauty's  self. — C. 

G. 


182 


SPECTATOR. 


on  the  contrary,  lies  quite  on  the  other  side,  in  separating  care 
fully  one  from  another,  ideas  wherein  can  be  found  the  least  dif- 
ference, thereby  to  avoid  being  mis-led  by  similitude,  and  by  affin- 
ity, to  take  one  thing  for  another.  This  is  a  way  of  proceeding 
quite  contrary  to  metaphor  and  allusion ;  wherein,  for  the  most 
part,  lies  that  entertainment  and  pleasantry  of  wit  which  strikes 
so  lively  on  the  fancy,  and  is  therefore  so  acceptable  to  all 
people.^ 

This  is,  I  think,  the  best  and  most  philosophical  account  that 
I  have  ever  met  with  of  wit,  which  generally,  though  not  always 
consists  in  such  a  resemblance  and  congruity  of  ideas  as  this  au- 
thor mentions.  I  shall  only  add  to  it,  by  way  of  explanation 
that  every  resemblance  of  ideas  is  not  that  which  we  call  wit,  un- 
less it  be  such  an  one  that  gives  delight  and  surprise  to  the  reader  • 
these  two  properties  seem  essential  to  wit,  more  particularly 
the  last  of  them.  In  order,  therefore,  that  the  resemblajice  in 
the  ideas  be  wit,  it  is  necessary  that  the  ideas  should  not  lie  too 
near  one  another  in  the  nature  of  things ;  for  where  the  likeness 
is  obvious,  it  gives  no  surprise.  To  compare  one  man's  singing 
to  that  of  another,  or  to  represent  the  whiteness  of  any  object  by 
that  of  milk  and  snow,  or  its  variety  of  its  colours  by  those  of 
the  rainbow,  cannot  be  called  wit,  unless,  besides  this  obvious  re- 
semblance, there  be  some  further  congruity  discovered  in  the  two 
ideas,  that  is  capable  of  giving  the  reader  some  surprise.  Thus, 
when  a  poet  tells  us,  the  bosom  of  his  mistress  is  as  white  as 
snow,  there  is  no  wit  in  the  comparison  :  but  when  he  adds,  with 
a  sigh,  that  it  is  as  cold  too,  it  then  grows  into  wit.  Every 
reader's  memory  may  supply  him  with  innumerable  instances  of 
the  same  nature.  For  this  reason,  the  similitudes  in  heroic  poets, 
who  endeavour  rather  to  iBll  the  mind  with  great  conceptions,  than 
to  divert  it  with  such  as  are  new  and  surprising,  have  seldom  any 
t  V.  LoGke'8  Essay  Book  2,  ch.  11.— G. 


No.  6  2.  J 


SPECTATOR. 


183 


thinfr  in  tliem  that  can  be  called  wit.  Mr.  Locke's  account  of 
wit,  with  this  short  explanation,  comprehends  most  of  the  species  of 
wit;  as  metaphors,  similitudes,  allegories,  aenigmas,  mottos,  para- 
bles, fables,  dreams,  visions,  dramatic  writings,  burlesque,  and 
all  the  methods  of  allusion :  as  there  are  many  other  pieces  of 
wit  (how  remote  soever  they  may  appear  at  first  sight  from  the 
foregoing  description)  which  upon  examination  will  be  found  to 
agree  with  it. 

As  true  wit  generally  consists  in  this  resemblance  and  con- 
gruity  of  ideas,  false  wit  chiefly  consists  in  the  resemblance  and 
congruity  sometimes  of  single  letters,  as  in  anagrams,  chrono- 
grams, lipograms,  and  acrostics  :  sometimes  of  syllables,  as  in 
echoes  and  doggerel  rhymes  :  sometimes  of  words,  as  in  puns  and 
quibbles  ;  and  sometimes  of  whole  sentences  or  poems,  cast  into 
the  figures  of  eggs,  axes,  or  altars :  nay,  some  carry  the  notion  of 
wit  so  far,  as  to  ascribe  it  even  to  external  mimicry;  and  to  look 
upon  a  man  as  an  ingenious  person,  that  can  resemble  the  tone, 
posture,  or  face  of  another. 

As  true  wit  consists  in  the  resemblance  of  ideas,  and  false  wit 
in  the  Resemblance  of  words,  according  to  the  foregoing  instances ; 
there  is  another  kind  of  wit,  which  consists  partly  in  the  resem- 
blance of  ideas,  and  partly  in  the  resemblance  of  words ;  which, 
for  distinction  sake,  I  shall  call  mixt  wit.  This  kind  of  wit  is 
that  which  abounds  in  Cowley,  more  than  in  any  author  that  ever 
wrote.  Mr.  Waller  has  likewise  a  great  deal  of  it.  Mr.  Dryden 
is  very  sparing  in  it.  Milton  had  a  genius  much  above  it.  Spen- 
cer is  in  the  same  class  with  Milton.  The  Italians,  even  in  their 
epic  poetry,  are  full  of  it.  Monsieur  Boileau,  who  formed  himself 
upon  the  ancient  poets,  has  every  where  rejected  it  with  scorn. 
If  we  look  after  mixt  wit  among  the  Greek  writers,  we  shall  find 
it  no  where  but  in  the  epigrammatists.  There  are,  indeed,  some 
strokes  of  it  in  the  little  poem  ascribed  to  Musseus,  which  by  that, 


134 


SrECTATOR 


as  well  as  many  other  marks,  betrays  itself  to  be  a  modern  compo- 
sition. If  we  look  into  the  Latin  writers,  we  find  none  of  this  mixt 
wit  in  Virgil,  Lucretius,  or  Catullus ;  very  little  in  Horace  ;  but  a 
great  deal  of  it  in  Ovid  ;  and  scarce  any  thing  else  in  Martial. 

Out  of  the  innumerable  branches  of  mixt  wit,  I  shall  chuse 
one  instance  which  may  be  met  with  in  all  the  writers  of  this 
class.  The  passion  of  love  in  its  nature  has  been  thought  to  re- 
semble fire;  for  which  reason  the  words  fire  and  flame  are  made 
use  of  to  signify  love.  The  witty  poets,  therefore,  have  taken  an 
advantage  from  the  doubtful  meaning  of  the  word  fire,  to  make  an 
infinite  number  of  witticisms.  Cowley  observing  the  cold  regard 
of  his  mistress's  eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  their  power  of  produc- 
ing love  in  him,  considers  them  as  burning-glasses  made  of  ice ; 
and  finding  himself  able  to  live  in  the  greatest  extremities  of 
love,  concludes  the  torrid  zone  to  be  habitable.  When  his  mis- 
tress has  read  his  letter  written  in  juice  of  lemon  by  holding  it  to 
the  fire,  he  desires  her  to  read  it  over  a  second  time  by  love's 
flames.  When  she  weeps,  he  wishes  it  were  inward  heat  that 
distilled  those  drops  from  the  limbec.  When  she  is  absent,  he 
is  beyond  eighty ;  that  is,  thirty  degrees  nearer  the  pole  than 
when  she  is  with  him.  His  ambitious  love  is  a  fire  that  naturally 
mounts  upwards  ;  his  happy  love  is  the  beams  of  heaven,  and  his 
unhappy  love  flames  of  hell.  When  it  does  not  let  him  sleep,  it 
is  a  flame  that  sends  up  no  smoke;  when  it  is  opposed 'by  counsel 
and  advice,  it  is  a  fire  that  rages  the  more  by  the  wind's  blowing 
upon  it.  Upon  the  dying  of  a  tree  in  which  he  had  cut  his  loves, 
he  observes  that  his  written  flames  had  burnt  up  and  withered  the 
tree.  When  he  resolves  to  give  over  his  passion,  he  tells  us  that 
one  burnt  like  him  for  ever  dreads  the  fire.  His  heart  is  an 
^tna,  that  instead  of  Vulcan's  shop,  incloses  Cupid's  forge  in  it. 
His  endeavouring  to  drown  his  love  in  wine,  is  throwing  oil  upon 
the  fire.    He  would  insinuate  to  his  mistress,  that  the  fire  of  love, 


No.  62.] 


SPECTATOR. 


185 


like  that  of  the  sun  (which  produces  so  many  living  creatures) 
should  not  only  warm  but  beget.  Love  in  another  place  cooks 
pleasure  at  his  fire.  Sometimes  the  poet^s  heart  is  frozen  in 
every  breast,  and  sometimes  scorched  in  every  eye.  Sometimes 
he  is  drowned  in  tears,  and  burnt  in  love,  like  a  ship  set  on  fire  in 
the  middle  of  the  sea.  , 

The  reader  may  observe  in  every  one  of  these  instances,  that 
the  poet  mixes  the  qualities  of  fire  with  those  of  love ;  and  in  the 
same  sentence  speaking  of  it  both  as  a  passion,  and  as  real  fire, 
surprises  the  reader  with  those  seeming  resemblances  or  contra- 
dictions that  make  up  all  the  wit  ia  this  kind  of  writing.  Mixt 
wit,  therefore,  is  a  composition  of  pun  and  true  wit,  and  is  more 
or  less  perfect  as  the  resemblance  lies  in  the  ideas,  or  in  the 
words  :  its  foundations  are  laid  partly  in  falsehood,  and  partly  in 
truth  :  reason  puts  in  her  claim  for  one  half  of  it,  and  extrava- 
gance for  the  other.  The  only  province,  therefore,  for  this  kind 
of  wit,  is  epigram,  or  those  little  occasional  poems,  that  in  their 
own  nature  are  nothing  else  but  a  tissue  of  epigrams.  I  cannot 
conclude  this  head  of  mixt  wit,  without  owning  that  the  admirable 
poet  out  of  whom  I  have  taken  the  examples  of  it,  had  as  much 
true  wit  as  any  author  that  ever  writ ;  and,  indeed,  all  other  ta- 
lents of  an  extraordinary  genius. 

It  may  be  expected,  since  I  am  upon  this  subject,  that  I 
should  take  notice  of  Mr.  Dryden's  definition  of  wit ;  which,  with 
all  the  deference  that  is  due  to  the  judgment  of  so  great  a  man, 
is  not  so  properly  a  definition  of  wit,  as  of  good  writiog  in  gene- 
ral. Wit,  as  he  defines  it,  is  a  propriety  of  words  and  thoughts 
adapted  to  the  subject."  If  this  be  a  true  definition  of  wit,  I  am 
apt  to  think  that  Euclid  was  the  greatest  wit  that  ever  set  pen  to 
paper  :  it  is  certain  there  never  was  a  greater  propriety  of  words 
and  thoughts  adapted  to  the  subject,  than  what  that  author  has 
made  use  of  in  his  Elements.    I  shall  only  appeal  to  my  reader. 


186 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  62. 


if  this  definition  agrees  with  any  notion  he  has  of  wit.  If  it  be  a 
true  one,  I  am  sure  Mr.  Dryden  was  not  only  a  better  poet,  but 
a  greater  wit,  than  Mr.  Cowley  ;  and  Virgil  a  much  more  facetious 
man  than  either  Ovid  or  Martial. 

Bouhours,  whom  I  look  upon  to  be  the  most  penetrating  of 
all  the  French  critics,  has  taken  pains  to  shew,  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  any  thought  to  be  beautiful  which  is  not  just,  and  has  not 
its  foundation  in  the  nature  of  things  :  that  the  basis  of  all  wit  is 
truth ;  and  that  no  thought  can  be  valuable,  of  which  good  sense 
is  not  the  ground-work.  Boileau  has  endeavoured  to  inculcate 
the  same  notion  in  several  parts  of  his  writings,  both  in  prose 
and  verse.  This  is  that  natural  way  of  writing,  that  beautiful 
simplicity,  which  we  so  much  admire  in  the  compositions  of  the 
ancients ;  and  which  nobody  deviates  from,  but  those  who  want 
strength  of  genius  to  make  a  thought  shine  in  its  own  natural 
beauties.  Poets  who  want  this  strength  of  genius  to  give  that 
majestic  simplicity  to  nature,  which  we  so  much  admire  in  the 
works  of  the  ancients,  are  forced  to  hunt  after  foreign  ornaments, 
and  not  to  let  any  piece  of  wit  of  what  kind  soever  escape  them. 
I  look  upon  these  writers  as  Goths  in  poetry,  who,  like  those  in 
architecture,  not  being  able  to  come  up  to  the  beautiful  simplicity 
of  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans,  have  endeavoured  to  supply  its 
place  with  all  the  extravagancies  of  an  irregular  fancy.  Mr. 
Dryden  makes  a  very  handsome  observation  on  Ovid's  writing  a 
letter  from  Dido  to  ^neas,  in  the  following  words  :  '*  Ovid  (says 
he,  speaking  of  Virgil's  fiction  of  Dido  and  ^neas)  takes  it  up 
after  him,  even  in  the  same  age,  and  makes  an  ancient  heroine  of 
VirgiFs  new-created  Dido ;  dictates  a  letter  for  her  just  before 
her  death  to  the  ungrateful  fugitive ;  and,  very  unluckily  for  him- 
self, is  for  measuring  a  sword  with  a  man  so  much  superior  in 
force  to  him  on  the  same  subject.  I  think  I  may  be  judge  of 
this,  because  I  have  translated  both.    The  famous  author  of  the 


No.  62.] 


SPECTATOR 


187 


Art  of  Love  has  nothing  of  his  own ;  he  borrows  all  from  a  greater 
master  in  his  own  profession,  and,  which  is  worse,  improves  noth- 
ing which  he  finds  :  nature  fails  him.  and  being  forced  to  his  old 
shift,  he  has  recourse  to  witticism.  This  passes,  indeed,  with 
his  soft  admirers,  and  gives  him  the  preference  to  Virgil  in  their 
esteem." 

Were  not  I  supported  by  so  great  an  authority  as  that  of 
Mr.  Dryden,  I  should  not  venture  to  observe,  that  the  taste  of 
most  of  our  English  poets,  as  well  as  readers,  is  extremely  Gothic. 
He  quotes  Monsieur  Segrais  for  a  threefold  distinction  of  the 
readers  of  poetry ;  in  the  first  of  which  he  comprehends  the  rab- 
ble of  readers,  whom  he  does  not  treat  as  such  with  regard  to 
their  quality,  but  to  their  numbers,  and  the  coarseness  of  their 
taste.  His  words  are  as  follow  :  "  Segrais  has  distinguished  the 
readers  of  poetry,  according  to  their  capacity  of  judgment,  into 
three  classes.  (He  might  have  said  the  same  of  writers,  too,  if 
he  had  pleased.)  In  the  lowest  form  he  places  those  whom  he 
calls  Les  Petits  Esprits;  such  things  as  are  our  upper-gallery 
audience  in  a  play-house,  who  like  nothing  but  the  husk  and  rind 
of  wit,  prefer  a  quibble,  a  conceit,  an  epigram,  before  solid  sense, 
and  elegant  expression  :  these  are  mob  readers.  If  Virgil  and 
Martial  stood  for  parliament  men,  we  know  already  who  would 
carry  it.  But  though  the}^  make  the  greatest  appearance  in  the 
field,  and  cry  the  loudest,  the  best  on't  is,  they  are  but  a  sort  of 
French  Huguenots,  or  Dutch  boors,  brought  over  in  herds,  but 
not  naturalized;  who  have  not  lands  of  two  pounds  per  annum  in 
Parnassus,  and  therefore  are  not  privileged  to  poll.^  Their  au- 
thors are  of  the  same  level,  fit  to  represent  them  on  a  mounte- 
bank's stage,  or  to  be  masters  of  the  ceremonies  in  a  bear-garden ; 
yet  these  are  they  who  have  the  most  admirers.    But  it  often 

I  To  poll  is  here  used  as  signifying  to  vote  ;  but,  in  propiiety  of  speech, 
the  poll  only  ascertains  the  majority  of  votes. — C. 


188 


SPECTATOR. 


[No,  Oii. 


happens,  to  their  mortification,  that  as  their  readers  improve 
their  stock  of  sense  (as  they  may  by  reading  better  books, 
and  by  conversation  with  men  of  judgment),  they  soon  forsake 
them. 

I  must  not  dismiss  this  subject  without  -observing,  that  as 
Mr.  Locke,  in  the  passage  above-mentioned,  has  discovered  the 
most  fruitful  source  of  wdt,  so  there  is  another  of  a  quite  con- 
trary nature  to  it,  which  does  likewise  branch  itself  out  into 
several  kinds.  For  not  only  the  resemblance,  but  the  opposition 
of  ideas  does  very  often  produce  wit ;  as  I  could  shew  in  several 
little  points,  turns,  and  antitheses,  that  I  may  possibly  enlargo 
upon  in  some  future  speculation.  C. 


NO.  63.    SATURDAY,  MAY  12.  ^ 

Humano  capiti  cervicem  pictor  equinam 
Jungere  si  vellit,  et  varias  iuducere  pliimas 
Undique  collaiis  membris,  ut  turjuter  atrum 
Desinat  in  piscem  mulier  formosa  superne; 
S[)ectatam  adinissi  risiun  teneatis  arnici  ? 
Credite,  Pisones  isti  tabulse,  fore  librum 
Persimilem,  ciijus,  velut  aegri  souniia,  vanae 
Finguntur  species  

HoK.  Ars.  Poet.  v.  1. 

If  in  a  picture,  Piso,  you  should  see 

A  handsome  woman  with  a  fish's  tail, 

Or  a  man's  head  upon  a  horse's  neck, 

Or  limbs  of  beasts,  of  the  most  different  kinds, 

Cover'd  with  feathers  of  all  sorts  of  birds ; 

Would  you  not  laugh,  and  think  the  painter  mad  ? 

Trust  me  that  book  is  as  ridiculous, 

Whose  incoherent  style,  like  sick  men's  di'eams, 

Varies  all  shapes,  and  mixes  all  extremes. 

EOSCOMMON. 

It  is  very  hard  for  the  mind  to  disengage  itself  from  a  sub- 
ject in  which  it  has  been  long  employed.  The  thoughts  will  be 
rising  of  themselves  from  time  to  time,  though  we  give  them  no 


No.  63.] 


SPECTATOR. 


189 


encouragement  :  as  the  tossings  and  fluctuations  of  the  sea  con- 
tinue several  hours  after  the  winds  are  laid. 

It  is  to  this  that  I  impute  my  last  night's  dream,  or  vision, 
"which  formed  into  one  continued  allegory  the  several  schemes  of 
wit,  whether  false,  mixed,  or  true,  that  have  been  the  subject  of 
my  late  papers. 

Methoughts  I  was  transported  into  a  country  that  was 
filled  with  prodigies  and  enchantments,  governed  by  the  Goddess 
of  Falsehood,  and  entitled  the  Region  of  False  Wit.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  fields,  the  woods,  and  the  rivers,  that  appeared 
natural.  Several  of  the  trees  blossomed  in  leaf-gold,  some  of 
them  produced  bone-lace,  and  some  of  them  precious  stones. 
The  fountains  bubbled  in  an  opera  tune,  and  were  filled  with 
stags,  wild  boars,  and  mermaids,  that  lived  among  the  waters ;  at 
the  same  time  that  dolphins  and  several  kinds  of  fish  played  upon 
the  banks,  or  took  their  pastime  in  the  meadows.  The  birds  had 
many  of  them  golden  beaks  and  human  voices.  The  flowers  per- 
fumed the  air  with  smells  of  incense,  and  ambergris,  and  pul- 
villos  ;^  and  were  so  interwoven  with  one  another,  that  they  grew 
up  in  pieces  of  embroidery.  The  winds  were  filled  with  sighs 
and  messages  of  distant  lovers.  As  I  was  walking  to  and  fro  in 
this  enchanted  wilderness,  I  could  not  forbear  breaking  out  into 
soliloquies  upon  the  several  wonders  which  lay  before  me,  when, 
to  my  great  surprise,  I  found  there  were  artificial  echoes  in 
every  walk,  that  by  repetitions  of  certain  words  which  I  spoke, 
agreed  with  me,  or  contradicted  me,  in  every  thing  I  said.  In 
the  midst  of  my  conversation  with  these  invisible  companions,  I 
discovered  in  the  centre  of  a  very  dark  grove  a  monstrous  fabric, 
built  after  the  Grothic  manner,  and  covered  with  innumerable  de- 
vices in  that  barbarous  kind  of  sculpture.  I  immediately  went 
p  to  it,  and  found  it  to  be  a  kind  of  heathen  temple  consecrated 
I  Pulvillios — sweet-scented  powders. — L. 


190 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  63. 


to  the  God  of  Dulness.  Upon  my  entrance  I  saw  the  deity  of  the 
place  dressed  in  the  ha.bit  of  a  monk,  with  a  book  in  one  hand 
and  a  rattle  in  the  other.  Upon  his  right  hand  was  Industry,  with 
a  lamp  burning  before  her  ;  and  on  his  left,  Caprice,  with  a  mon- 
key sitting  on  her  shoulder.  Before  his  feet  there  stood  an  altar 
of  a  very  odd  make,  which,  as  I  afterwards  found,  was  shaped 
in  that  manner  to  comply  with  the  inscription  that  surrounded  it. 
Upon  the  altar  there  lay  several  offerings  of  axes,  wings,  and 
eggs,  cut  in  paper,  and  inscribed  with  verses.  The  temple  was 
filled  with  votaries,  who  applied  themselves  to  different  diver- 
sions, as  their  fancies  directed  them.  In  one  part  of  it  I  saw  a 
regiment  of  Anagrams,  who  were  continually  in  motion,  turning 
to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  facing  about,  doubling  their  ranks, 
shifting  their  stations,  and  throwing  themselves  into  all  the 
figures  and  counter-marches  of  the  most  changeable  and  per 
plexed  exercise. 

Not  far  from  these  was  a  body  of  Acrostics,  made  up  of  very 
disproportionate  persons.  It  was  disposed  into  three  columns, 
the  ofl&cers  planting  themselves  in  a  line  on  the  left  hand  of  each 
column.  The  officers  were  all  of  them  at  least  six  foot  high,  and 
made  three  rows  of  very  proper  men ;  but  the  common  soldiers, 
who  filled  up  the  spaces  between  the  officers,  were  such  dwarfs, 
cripples,  and  scarecrows,  that  one  could  hardly  look  upon  them 
without  laughing.  There  were  behind  the  Acrostics  two  or 
three  files  of  Chronograms,  which  differed  only  from  the  former, 
as  their  officers  were  equipped  (like  the  figure  of  Time)  with  an 
hour-glass  in  one  hand,  and  a  scythe  in  the  other,  and  took  their 
posts  promiscuously  among  the  private  men  whom  they  com- 
manded. 

In  the  body  of  the  temple,  and  before  the  very  face  of  the 
deity,  methoughts  T  saw  the  phantom  of  Tryphiodorus  the  Lipo- 
grammatist,  engaged  in  a  ball  with  four  and  twenty  persons,  who 


No.  63.] 


SPECTATOR. 


pursued  him  by  turns  through  all  the  intricacies  and  labyrinths 
of  a  country  dance,  without  being  able  to  overtake  him. 

Observing  several  to  be  very  busy  at  the  western  end  of  the 
temple,  I  inij^uired  into  what  they  were  doing,  and  found  there 
was  in  that  quarter  the  great  magazine  of  Rebuses.  These  were 
several  things  of  the  most  different  natures  tied  up  in  bundles, 
and  thrown  upon  one  another  in  heaps  like  fagots.  You  might 
behold  an  anchor,  a  night-rail,  and  a  hobby-horse  bound  up  to- 
gether. One  of  the  workmen  seeing  me  very  much  surprised, 
told  me,  there  was  an  infinite  deal  of  wit  in  several  of  those 
bundles,  and  that  he  would  explain  them  to  me  if  I  pleased  :  I 
thanked  him  for  his  civility,  but  told  him  I  was  in  very  ^reat 
haste  at  that  time.  As  I  was  going  out  of  the  temple,  I  ob- 
served in  one  corner  of  it  a  cluster  of  men  and  women  laughing 
very  heartily,  and  diverting  themselves  at  a  game  of  crambo.  I 
heard  several  double  rhymes  as  I  passed  them,  which  raised  a 
great  deal  of  mirth. 

Not  far  from  these  was  another  set  of  merry  people,  engaged 
in  a  diversion,  in  which  the  whole  jest  was  to  mistake  one  per- 
son for  another.  To  give  occasion  for  these  ludicrous  mistakes, 
they  were  divided  into  pairs,  every  pair  being  covered  from  head 
to  foot  with  the  same  kind  of  dress,  though  perhaps  there  was 
not  the  least  resemblance  in  their  faces.  By  this  means  an  old 
man  was  sometimes  taken  for  a  boy,  a  woman  for  a  man,  and  a 
Black-a-moor  for  an  European,  which  very  often  produced  great 
peals  of  laughter.  These  I  guessed  to  be  a  party  of  Puns.  But 
being  very  desirous  to  get  out  of  this  world  of  magic,  which  had 
almost  turned  my  brain,  I  left  the  temple,  and  crossed  over  the 
fields  that  lay  about  it  with  all  the  speed  I  could  make.  I  was 
not  gone  far  before  I  heard  the  sound  of  trumpets  and  alarms, 
which  seemed  to  proclaim  the  march  of  an  enemy ;  and,  as  I 
afterwards  found,  was  in  reality  what  I  apprehended  it.  There 


102 


SPECTATOR, 


[Xo.  63. 


appeared  at  a  great  distance  a  very  shining  ligbt,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  a  person  of  a  most  beautiful  aspect ;  her  name  was 
Truth.  On  her  right  hand  there  marched  a  male  doity,  who  bore 
several  quivers  on  his  shoulders,  and  grasped  several  arrows  in 
his  hand ;  his  name  was  Wit.  The  approach  of  these  two 
enemies  filled  all  the  territories  of  False  Wit  with  an  unspeak- 
able consternation,  insomuch  that  the  goddess  of  those  regions 
appeared  in  person  upon  the  frontiers,  with  the  several  inferior 
deities,  and  the  different  bodies  of  forces  which  I  had  before 
seen  in  the  temple,  who  were  now  drawn  up  in  array,  and  pre- 
pared to  give  their  foes  a  warm  reception.  As  the  march  of  the 
enemy  was  very  slow,  it  gave  time  to  the  several  inhabitants  who 
bordered  upon  the  regions  of  Falsehood  to  draw  their  forces  into 
a  body,  with  a  design  to  stand  upon  their  guard  as  neuters,  and 
attend  the  issue  of  the  combat, 

I  must  here  inform  my  reader,  that  the  frontiers  of  the  en- 
chanted region,  which  I  have  before  described,  were  inhabited 
by  the  species  of  mixed  wit,  who  made  a  very  odd  appearance 
when  they  were  mustered  together  in  an  army.  There  were  men 
whose  bodies  were  stuck  full  of  darts,  and  women  whose  eyes 
were  burning-glasses ;  men  that  had  hearts  of  fire,  and  women 
that  had  breasts  of  snow.  It  would  be  endless  to  describe 
several  monsters  of  the  like  nature,  that  composed  this  great 
army,  which  immediately  fell  asunder  and  divided  itself  into 
two  parts,  the  one  half  throwing  themselves  behind  the  banners 
of  Truth,  and  the  others  behind  those  of  Falsehood, 

The  Goddess  of  Falsehood  was  of  a  gigantic  stature,  and  ad- 
vanced some  paces  before  the  front  of  the  army ;  but  as  the  daz- 
zling light,  which  flowed  from  Truth,  began  to  shine  upon  her, 
she  faded  insensibly ;  insomuch  that  in  a  little  space  she  looked 
rather  like  an  huge  phantom,  than  a  real  substance.  At  length 
as  the  Goddess  of  Truth  -approached  still  nearer  to  her,  she  fell 


No.  63.] 


SPECTATOR. 


193 


away  entirely,  and  vanished  amidst  the  brightness  of  her  pres- 
ence, so  that  there  did  not  remain  the  least  trace  or  impression 
of  her  figure  in  the  place  where  she  had  been  seen. 

As  at  the  rising  of  the  sun  the  constellations  grow  thin,  and 
the  stars  go  out  one  after  another,  till  the  whole  hemisphere  is 
extinguished;  such  was  the  vanishing  of  the  goddess,  and  not 
only  of  the  goddess  herself,  but  of  the  whole  army  that  attended 
her,  which  sympathized  with  their  leader,  and  shrunk  into 
nothing,  in  proportion  as  the  goddess  disappeared.  At  the  same 
time  the  whole  temple  sunk,  the  fish  betook  themselves  to  the 
streams,  and  the  wild  beasts  to  the  woods,  the  fountains  re- 
covered their  murmurs,  the  birds  their  voices,  the  trees  their 
leaves,  the  flowers  their  scents,  and  the  whole  face  of  nature  its 
true  and  genuine  appearance.  Though  I  still  continued  asleep, 
I  fancied  myself  as  it  were  awakened  out  of  a  dream,  when  I 
saw  this  region  of  prodigies  restored  to  woods  and  rivers,  fields 
and  meadows. 

Upon  the  removal  of  that  wild  scene  of  wonders,  which  had  very 
much  disturbed  my  imagination,  I  took  a  full  survey  of  the  per- 
sons of  Wit  and  Truth ;  for  indeed  it  was  impossible  to  look  upon 
the  first,  without  seeing  the  other  at  the  same  time.  There  was 
behind  them  a  strong  and  compact  body  of  figures.  The  genius 
of  Heroic  Poetry  appeared  with  a  sword  in  her  hand,  and  a  laurel 
on  her  head.  Tragedy  was  crowned  with  cypress,  and  covered 
with  robes  dipped  in  blood.  Satire  had  smiles  in  her  look,  and  a 
dagger  under  her  garment.  Ehetoric  was  known  by  her  thun- 
derbolt ;  and  comedy  by  her  mask.  After  several  other  figures. 
Epigram  marched  up  in  the  rear,  who  had  been  posted  there  at 
the  beginning  of  the  expedition,  that  he  might  not  revolt  to  the 
enemy,  whom  he  was  suspected  to  favour  in  his  heart.  I  was  very 
much  awed  and  delighted  with  the  appearance  of  the  God  of 
Wit ;  there  was  something  so  amiable  and  yet  so  piercing  in  his 

voB.  V. — 9 


194 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  68 


looks,  as  inspired  ine  at  once  with  love  and  terror.  As  I  was  ga- 
zing on  him,  to  my  unspeakable  joy,  he  took  a  quiver  of  arrows 
from  his  shoulder,  in  order  to  make  me  a  present  of  it ;  but  as  I 
was  reaching  out  my  hand  to  receive  it  of  him,  I  knocked  it 
against  a  chair,  and  by  that  means  awaked.  0. 


No.  68.    FRIDAY,  MAY  18 

Nos  duo  turba  sum  us —  

Ovid,  Met.  1.  855. 

Wo  two  are  a  multitufl« 

One  would  think  that  the  larger  the  company  is  in  which 
we  are  engaged,  the  greater  variety  of  thoughts  and  subjects 
would  be  started  in  discourse  ;  but  instead  of  this,  we  find  that 
conversation  is  never  so  much  streightened  and  confined  as  in  nu- 
merous assemblies.  When  a  multitude  meet  together  upon  any 
subject  of  discourse,  their  debates  are  taken  up  chiefly  with  forms 
and  general  positions  ;  nay,  if  we  come  into  a  more  contracted 
assembly  of  men  and  women,  the  talk  generally  runs  upon  the 
weather,  fashions,  news,  and  the  like  public  topics.  In  pro- 
portion as  conversation  gets  into  clubs  and  knots  of  friends,  it 
descends  into  particulars,  and  grows  more  free  and  communica- 
tive ;  but  the  most  open,  instructive,  and  unreserved  discourse, 
is  that  which  passes  between  two  persons  who  are  familiar  and 
intimate  friends.  On  these  occasions,  a  man  gives  a  loose  to 
every  passion  and  every  thought  that  is  uppermost,  discovers  his 
most  retired  opinions  of  persons  and  things,  tries  the  beaut}^  and 
strength  of  his  sentiments,  and  exposes  his  whole  soul  to  the  ex- 
amination of  his  friend. 

Tully  was  the  first  who  observed,  that  friendship  improves 


No.  68.] 


SPECTATOR. 


195 


happiness  and  abates  misery,  by  the  doubling  of  our  joy  and  di- 
viding of  our  grief ;  a  thought  in  which  he  hath  been  followed  by 
all  the  essayers  upon  friendship,  that  have  written  since  his  time. 
Sir  Francis  Bacon  has  finely  described  other  advantages,  or,  as 
he  calls  them,  fruits  of  friendship  ;  and  indeed  there  is  no  sub- 
ject of  morality  which  has  been  better  handled  and  more  exhaust- 
ed than  this.  Among  the  several  fine  things  which  have  been 
spoken  of  it,  I  shall  beg  leave  to  quote  some  out  of  a  very  ancient 
author,  whose  book  would  be  regarded  by  our  modern  wits  as 
one  of  the  most  shining  tracts  of  morality  that  is  extant,  if  it 
appeared  under  the  name  of  a  Confucius,  or  of  any  celebrated 
Grecian  philosopher  :  I  mean  the  little  apocryphal  treatise  enti- 
tled, '  The  Wisdom  of  the  Son  of  Sirach.'  How  finely  has  he 
described  the  art  of  making  friends,  by  an  obliging  and  affable 
behaviour  ?  and  laid  down  that  precept  which  a  late  excellent 
author  has  delivered  as  his  own,  '  That  we  should  have  many 
well-wishers,  but  few  friends.'  '  Sweet  language  will  multiply 
friends ;  and  a  fair  speaking  tongue  will  increase  kind  greetings. 
Be  in  peace  with  many,  nevertheless,  have  but  one  counsellor  of 
a  thousand.'  ^  "With  what  prudence  does  he  caution  us  in  the 
choice  of  our  friends  ?  and  with  what  strokes  of  nature  ( I  could 
almost  say  of  humour)  has  he  described  the  behaviour  of  a  trea- 
cherous and  self-interested  friend  ?  '  If  thou  wouldest  get  a 
friend,  prove  him  first,  and  be  not  hasty  to  credit  him :  for  some 
man  is  a  friend  for  his  own  occasion,  and  will  not  abide  in  the 
day  of  thy  trouble.  And  there  is  a  friend  who  being  turned  to  en- 
mity and  strife,  will  discover  thy  reproach.'  Again,  ^  Some  friend 
is  a  companion  at  the  table,  and  will  not  continue  in  the  day  of 
thy  affliction  :  but  in  thy  prosperity  he  will  be  as  thyself,  and 
will  be  bold  over  thy  servants.  If  thou  be  brought  low,  he  will 
be  against  thee,  and  hide  himself  from  thy  face.'  What  can  be 
1  Ecclus.  vl  6,  6.    ^  Ibid.  vi.  7,  &  seq. 


196 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  68 


more  sfcrong  and  pointed  than  the  following  verse?  'Separate 
thyself  from  thine  enemies,  and  take  heed  of  thy  friends.'  In 
the  next  words  he  particularizes  one  of  those  fruits  of  friendship 
which  is  described  at  length  by  the  two  famous  authors  above- 
mentioned,  and  falls  into  a  general  eulogium  of  friendship,  which 
is  very  just  as  well  as  very  sublime.  '  A  faithful  friend  is  a  strong 
defence  ;  and  he  that  hath  found  such  an  one,  hath  found  a  trea- 
sure. Nothing  doth  countervail  a  faithful  friend,  and  his  excel- 
lency is  unvaluable.  A  faithful  friend  is  the  medicine  of  life  ; 
and  they  that  fear  the  Lord  shall  find  him.  Whoso  feareth  the 
Lord  shall  direct  his  friendship  aright;  for  as  he  is,  so  shall  his 
neighbour,  (that  is,  his  friend)  be  also.'  ^  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  met  with  any  saying  that  has  pleased  me  more  than  that  of 
a  friend's  being  the  medicine  of  life,  to  express  the  eiBBcacy  of 
friendship  in  healing  the  pains  and  anguish  which  naturally  cleave 
to  our  existence  in  this  world :  and  am  wonderfully  pleased  with 
the  turn  in  the  last  sentence  ;  That  a  virtuous  man  shall  as  a 
blessing  meet  with  a  friend  who  is  as  virtuous  as  himself  There 
is  another  saying  in  the  same  author,  which  would  have  been  very 
much  admired  in  an  heathen  writer  ;  '  Forsake  not  an  old  friend, 
for  the  new  is  not  comparable  to  him :  a  new  friend  is  as  new 
wine;  when  it  is  old  thou  shalt  drink  it  with  pleasure.'  '  With 
what  strength  of  allusion,  and  force  of  thought,  has  he  described 
the  breaches  and  violations  of  friendship  ?  '  Whoso  casteth  a 
stone  at  the  birds,  frayeth  them  away  ;  and  he  that  upbraideth 
his  friend,  breaketh  friendship.  Though  thou  drawest  a  sword 
at  a  friend,  yet  despair  not,  for  there  may  be  a  returning  to  fa- 
vour. If  thou  hast  opened  thy  mouth  against  thy  friend,  fear  not, 
for  there  may  be  a  reconciliation  ;  except  for  upbraiding,  or  pride, 
or  disclosing  of  secrets,  or  a  treacherous  wound  ;  for,  for  these 
things  every  friend  will  depart.'  ^  We  may  observe  in  this  and 
»  Eccl.  vi.  15,  18.  ^  Ibid.  ix.  10.         '  Ibid.  ix.  20,  21,  22. 


Na  68.1 


SPECTATOR. 


197 


several  other  precepts  in  this  author,  those  little  familiar  instan- 
ces and  illustrations  which  are  so  much  admired  in  the  moral 
writings  of  Horace  and  Epictetus.  There  are  very  beautiful  in- 
staaces  of  this  nature  in  the  following  passages,  which  are  like- 
wise written  upon  the  same  subject :  '  Whoso  discovereth  secrets, 
loseth  his  credit,  and  shall  never  find  a  friend  to  his  mind.  Love 
thy  friend  and  be  faithful  unto  him ;  but  if  thou  bewray  est  his 
secrets,  follow  no  more  after  him  :  for  as  a  man  hath  destroyed 
his  enemy,  so  hast  thou  lost  the  love  of  thy  friend ;  as  one  that 
letteth  a  bird  go  out  of  his  hand,  so  hast  thou  let  thy  friend  go, 
and  shall  not  get  him  again.  Follow  after  him  no  more,  for  he  is 
too  far  off;  he  is  as  a  roe  escaped  out  of  the  snare.  As  for  a 
wound,  it  may  be  bound  up,  and  after  reviling  there  may  be  re- 
conciliation ;  but  he  that  bewray eth  secrets,  is  without  hope.'  ^ 

Among  the  several  qualifications  of  a  good  friend,  this  wise 
man  has  very  justly  singled  out  constancy  and  faithfulness  as  the 
principal  :  to  these,  others  have  added  virtue,  knowledge,  dis- 
cretion, equality  in  age  and  fortune,  and,  as  Cicero  calls  it,  mo- 
rum  comitas^  a  pleasantness  of  temper.  If  I  wqyq  to  give  my 
opinion  upon  such  an  exhausted  subject,  I  should  join  to  these 
other  qualifications  a  certain  aequabilioy  or  evenness  of  behaviour. 
A  man  often  contracts  a  friendship  with  one  whom  perhaps  he 
does  not  find  out  'till  after  a  year's  conversation  ;  when  on  a 
sudden  some  latent  ill  humour  breaks  out  upon  him,  which  he 
never  discovered  or  suspected  at  his  first  entering  into  an  inti- 
macy with  him.  There  are  several  persons  who  in  some  certain 
periods  of  their  lives  are  inexpressibly  agreeable,  and  in  others  as 
odious  and  detestable.  Martial  has  given  us  a  very  pretty  pic- 
ture of  one  of  this  species  in  the  following  epigram  ; 

Difficilis,  faeilii*,  jucundus,  acerbus  es  idem, 
Nec  tecum  possum  vivere,  nec  sine  te. 

Epig.  4T,  1. 12. 

1  Eccl.  xxyii.  16,  &  seq. 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  69 


In  all  thy  humours,  whether  grave  or  mellow 
Thou'rt  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow ; 
Hast  so  much  wit,  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee, 
There  is  no  living  with  thee,  nor  without  thee. 

It  is  very  unlucky  for  a  man  to  be  entangled  in  a  friendship  with 
one,  who  by  these  changes  and  vicissitudes  of  humour  is  some- 
times amiable  and  sometimes  odious  :  and  as  most  men  are  at 
some  times  in  an  admirable  frame  and  disposition  of  mind,  it 
should  be  one  of  the  greatest  tasks  of  wisdom  to  keep  ourselves 
well  when  we  are  so,  and  never  to  go  out  of  that  which  is  the 
agreeable  part  of  our  character.  C. 


No.  69.    SATURDAY,  MAY  19. 

Hie  segetes,  illic  veniunt  felicius  uvie  : 
Arborei  fcetus  alibi,  atque  injussa  virescunt 
Gramina.   Nonne  vides,  croceos  ut  Tmolus  odores, 
India  mittit  ebur,  molles  sua  thura  Sabaei  ? 
At  Chalybes  nudi  ferrum,  virosaque  Pontus 
Castorea,  Eliadum  palmas  Epirus  equaram  ? 
Continuo  has  leges  jeternaque  foedera  certis 
Imposuit  natura  locis  

ViKG.  Geor.  1.  v.  54. 

This  ground  with  Bacchus,  that  with  Ceres  suits; 
That  other  loads  the  trees  with  happy  fruit; 
A  fourth  with  grass,  unbidden,  decks  the  ground ; 
Thus  Tmolus  is  with  yellow  salFron  crown'd ; 
India  black  ebon  and  white  iv'ry  bears. 
And  soft  Idume  weeps  her  od'rous  tears : 
Thus  Pontus  sends  her  beaver  stones  from  far ; 
And  naked  Spaniards  temper  steel  for  war; 
Epirus  for  the  Elean  chariot  breeds 
(In  hopes  of  palms)  a  race  of  running  steeds. 
This  is  th'  original  contract;  these  the  laws 
Imposed  by  na<ure,  and  by  nature's  cause. 

Dryden. 


There  is  no  place  in  the  town  which  I  so  much  love  to  fre- 
quent as  the  Royal  Exchange.    It  gives  me  a  secret  satisfaction, 


No.  69.] 


SrECTATOR. 


199 


and,  in  some  measure,  gratifies  my  vanity,  as  I  am  an  English- 
man, to  see  so  rich  an  assembly  of  country-men  and  foreigners 
consulting  together  upon  the  private  business  of  mankind,  and 
making  this  metropolis  a  kind  of  emporium  for  the  whole  earth. 
I  must  confess  I  look  upon  high-change  to  be  a  great  council,  in 
which  all  considerable  nations  have  their  representatives.  Fac 
tors  in  the  trading  world  are  what  ambassadors  are  in  the  politic 
world ;  they  negotiate  affairs,  conclude  treaties,  and  maintain  a 
good  correspondence  between  those  wealthy  societies  of  men  that 
are  divided  from  one  another  by  seas  and  oceans,  or  live  on  the 
different  extremities  of  a  continent  I  have  often  been  pleased  to 
hear  disputes  adjusted  between  an  inhabitant  of  Japan,  and  an 
alderman  of  London,  or  to  see  a  subject  of  the  Great  Mogul  en- 
tering into  a  league  with  one  of  the  Czar  of  Muscovy.  I  am  infi- 
nitely delighted  in  mixing  with  these  several  ministers  of  com* 
merce,  as  they  are  distinguished  by  their  different  walks  and 
different  languages  :  sometimes  I  am  justled  among  a  body  of 
Armenians  :  sometimes  I  am  lost  in  a  crowd  of  Jews ;  and  some- 
times make  one  in  a  groupe  of  Dutchmen.  I  am  a  Dane,  Swede, 
or  Frenchman  at  different  times  ;  or  rather  fancy  myself  like  the 
old  philosopher,  who  upon  being  asked  what  country-man  he  was, 
replied,  that  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  world. 

Though  I  very  fre(][uently  visit  this  busy  multitude  of  people, 
I  am  known  to  no  body  there  but  my  friend  Sir  Andrew,  who 
often  smiles  upon  me  as  he  sees  me  bustling  in  the  crowd,  but  at 
the  same  time  connives  at  my  presence  without  taking  any  further 
notice  of  me.  There  is  indeed  a  merchant  of  Egypt  who  just 
knows  me  by  sight,  having  formerly  remitted  me  some  money  to 
Grand  Cairo ; '  but  as  I  am  not  versed  in  the  modern  Coptic,  our 
conferences  go  no  further  than  a  bow  and  a  grimace.* 
1  See  ISTo.  1.  par.  4.-— C. 
*  Grimace.  Grimace,  in  our  author's  times  meant,  simply,  such  a  turn  of 


200 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  69 


This  grand  scene  of  business  gives  me  an  infinite  variety  of 
solid  and  substantial  entertainments.  As  I  am  a  great  lover  of 
mankind,  my  heart  naturally  overflows  with  pleasure  at  the  sight 
of  a  prosperous  and  happy  multitude,  insomuch,  that  at  many 
public  solemnities  I  cannot  forbear  expressing  my  joy  with  tears 
that  have  stolen  down  my  cheeks.  For  this  reason  I  am  wonder- 
fully delighted  to  see  such  a  body  of  men  thriving  in  their  own 
private  fortunes,  and  at  the  same  time  promoting  the  public  stock  ; 
or  in  other  words,  raising  estates  for  their  own  families,  by  bring- 
ing into  their  country  whatever  is  wanting,  and  carrying  out  of  it 
whatever  is  superfluous. 

Nature  seems  to  have  taken  a  peculiar  care  to  dissemi- 
natethe  blessings  among  the  different  regions  of  the  world, 
with  an  eye  to  this  mutual  intercourse  and  traffic  among  man- 
kind, that  the  natives  of  the  several  parts  of  the  globe  might 
have  a  kind  of  dependance  upon  one  another,  and  be  united  to- 
gether by  their  common  interest.  Almost  every  degree  produces 
something  peculiar  to  it.  The  food  often  grows  in  one  country, 
and  the  sauce  in  another.  The  fruits  of  Portugal  are  corrected 
by  the  products  of  Barbadoes  :  the  infusion  of  a  China  plant 
sweetened  with  the  pith  of  an  Indian  cane.  The  Philippic 
Islands  give  a  flavour  to  our  European  bowls.    The  single  dress 

the  countenance  as  expressed  acquaintance,  or  civilit}' :  but,  because  this 
air  of  complaisance  was  assumed,  or  was  taken  by  our  surly  countrj^men, 
to  be  assumed,  without  meaning,  the  Avord  came  to  be  used  (as  it  is  now) 
in  an  ill  sense,  for  any  affected  distortion  of  features. — H. 

^  To  have  taken  care  to  disseminate.  It  is  a  little  fault,  in  exact  writing, 
to  bring  two  infinitive  moods,  as  it  is  to  bring  two  genitive  cases  together. 
The  reason  is,  that  the  close  dependance  of  the  second  on  the  first,  loads 
the  sense,  and  hurts  perspicuity.  In  our  language,  especially,  this  mode 
of  expression  has  an  ill  etfect,  from  a  repetition  of  the  particles  'to,'  and 
'of,'  which  are  the  signs  of  the  infinitive  mood  and  genitive  case,  respec- 
tively. In  the  instance  before  us,  the  fault  is  a  little  palliated  by  the  in- 
tervention of  a  substantive  between  the  two  verbs,  *to  have  taken  care  to 
disseminate.'  It  would  have  glared  more  if  the  author  had  said — '  to  have 
chosen  to  disseminate.'  The  sentence  might  be  reformed  by  reading — *  ii 
Reems  as  if  nature  had  taken  care'  (tc. — H. 


No.  69.] 


SPECTATOR. 


201 


of  a  woman  of  quality  is  often  the  product  of  an  hundred  cli- 
mates. The  muff  and  the  fan  come  together  from  the  different 
ends  of  the  earth.  The  scarf  is  sent  from  the  torrid  zone,  and 
the  tippet  from  beneath  the  pole.  The  brocade  petticoat  rises 
out  of  the  mines  of  Peru,  and  the  diamond  necklace  out  of  the 
bowels  of  Indostan. 

If  we  consider  our  own  country  in  its  natural  prospect,  with- 
out any  of  the  benefits  and  advantages  of  commerce,  what  a  bar- 
ren uncomfortable  spot  of  earth  falls  to  our  share  !  Natural  his- 
torians tell  us,  that  no  fruit  grows  originally  among  us,  besides 
hips  and  haws,  acorns  and  pig-nuts,  with  other  delicacies  of  the 
like  nature ;  that  our  climate  of  itself,  and  without  the  assist- 
ances of  art,  can  make  no  further  advances  towards  a  plumb  than 
to  a  sloe,  and  carries  an  apple  to  no  greater  a  perfection  than  a 
crab :  that  our  melons,  our  peaches,  our  figs,  our  apricots,  and 
cherries,  are  strangers  among  us,  imported  in  different  ages,  and 
naturalized  in  our  English  gardens ;  and  that  they  would  all  de- 
generate and  fall  away  into  the  trash  of  our  own  country,  if  they 
were  wholly  neglected  by  the  planter,  and  left  to  the  mercy  of 
our  sun  and  soil.  Nor  has  traf&c  more  enriched  our  vegetable 
world,  than  it  has  improved  the  whole  face  of  nature  among 
us.*  Our  ships  are  laden  with  the  harvest  of  every  climate  :  our 
tables  are  stored  with  spices,  and  oils,  and  wines ;  our  rooms  are 
filled  with  pyramids  of  China,  and  adorned  with  the  workman- 
ship of  Japan  :  our  morning's  draught  comes  to  us  from  the  re- 
motest corners  of  the  earth ;  we  repair  our  bodies  by  the  drugs 
of  America,  and  repose  ourselves  under  Indian  canopies.  My 
friend  Sir  Andrew  calls  the  vineyards  of  France  our  gardens ; 
the  spice-islands  our  hot-beds :  the  Persians  our  silk-weavers, 

a  Improved  the  whole  face  of  nature  a7nong  us.  Badly  expressed  :  for 
the  instances  given,  are  not  of  improvements  in  the  face  of  nature,  but  in 
the  accommodations  of  life. — H. 

VOL.    V. — 9* 


2D2 


SPECTATOR. 


and  the  Chinese  our  potters.  Nature  indeed  furnishes  us  with 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  but  traffic  gives  us  a  great  variety  of 
what  is  useful,  and  at  the  same  time  supplies  us  with  every  thing 
that  is  convenient  and  ornamental.  Nor  is  it  the  least  part  of 
this  our  happiness,  that  whilst  we  enjoy  the  remotest  products 
of  the  north  and  south,  we  are  free  from  those  extremities  of 
weather  which  give  them  birth  ;  that  our  eyes  are  refreshed  with 
the  green  fields  of  Britain,  at  the  same  time  that  our  palates  are 
feasted  with  fruits  that  rise  between  the  tropics. 

For  these  reasons  there  are  not  more  useful  members  in  a 
commonwealth  than  merchants.  They  knit  mankind  together  in 
a  mutual  intercourse  of  good  offices,  distribute  the  gifts  of  nature, 
find  work  for  the  poor,  and  wealth  to  the  rich,  and  magnificence 
to  the  great. 

Our  English  merchant  converts  the  tin  of  his  own  country  into 
gold,  and  exchanges  his  wood  for  rubies.  The  Mahometans  are 
clothed  in  our  British  manufacture,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Frozen  Zone  warmed  with  the  fleeces  of  our  sheep. 

When  I  have  been  upon  the  Change,  I  have  often  fancied 
one  of  our  old  kings  standing  in  person,  where  he  is  represented 
in  effigy,  and  looking  down  upon  the  wealthy  concourse  of  people 
with  which  that  place  is  every  day  filled.  In  this  case,  how 
would  he  be  surprised  to  hear  all  the  languages  of  Europe 
spoken  in  this  little  spot  of  his  former  dominions,  and  to  see  so 
many  private  men,  who  in  his  time  would  have  been  the  vassals 
of  some  powerful  baron,  negociating  like  princes  for  greater 
sums  of  money  than  were  formerly  to  be  met  with  in  the  royal 
treasury  !  Trade,  without  enlarging  the  British  territories,  has 
given  us  a  kind  of  additional  empire :  it  has  multiplied  the  num- 
ber of  the  rich,  made  our  landed  estates  infinitely  more  valuable 
than  they  were  formerly,  and  added  to  them  an  accession  of  other 
estates  as  valuable  as  the  lands  themselves.  C. 


No.  10.] 


SPECTATOR, 


203 


No.  70.    MONDAY,  MAY  21. 

Interdum  vulgus  rectum  videt. 

HoR.  1  Ep.  11,  68. 

Sometimes  the  vulgar  see  and  judge  aright. 

When  I  travelled,  I  took  a  particular  delight  in  hearing  the 
songs  and  fables  that  are  come  from  father  to  son,  and  are 
most  in  vogue  among  the  common  people  of  the  countries  through 
which  I  passed ;  for  it  is  impossible  that  any  thing  should  be 
universally  tasted  and  approved  by  a  multitude,  though  they  are 
only  the  rabble  of  a  nation,  which  hath  not  in  it  some  peculiar 
aptness  to  please  and  gratify  the  mind  of  man.  Human  nature 
is  the  same  in  all  reasonable  creatures ;  and  whatever  falls  in 

To  praise  an  old  ballad  at  the  present  day  would  hardly  be  considered 
as  a  remarkable  proof  of  taste.  Percy's  collection,  Scott's  example,  and  the 
revival  of  mediaeval  studies,  have  brought  out  stores  of  genuine  poetry, 
which  the  critics  of  a  hundred  years  ago  had  never  dreamed  of.  But  of  all 
the  papers  of  the  Spectator  there  is  none,  perhaps,  which  in  spite  of  the 
authority  of  Sidney,  Dryden  and  Moliere,  required  more  independence  than 
this  defence  of  a  simple  and  artless  poem.  If  Addison  had  no  other  claim 
to  the  sympathy  of  true  scholars,  it  would  be  enough  to  say  that  he  was 
one  of  the  first  to  call  attention  to  the  ancient  ballad,  and  the  first  to 
praise  Milton  judiciously. 

The  ballad  of  'Chevy  Chace'  is  founded  upon  some  incident  in  the 
border  wars  of  England  and  Scotland,  and  probably  upon  the  battle  of 
Peppenden  between  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  and  the  Earl  of  Douglas, 
in  1436  (V.  Collins's  Peerage,  v.  11,  p.  334).  Of  the  author,  Ry chard  Sheale, 
whose  name  is  preserved  in  an  old  manuscript,  nothing  is  known ;  though 
there  can  be  little  hesitation  in  fixing  upon  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  as  the  period  in  which  he  lived.  With  a  modification  of  a  single 
word,  we  might  appl}^  to  him  the  language  which  Bouterweck  applies  to 
an  early  German  poet,  Dem  JJnhekannte7i  sichert  sein  Werk  die  Unstcr- 
hlichkeit.  It  is  of  this  form  of  the  poem  that  Sidney  speaks  in  the  passage 
quoted  by  Addison. 

Long  afterwards,  and  probably  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  the  old  poem 
was  remodelled  by  another  poet:  and  this  is  the  version  that  Addison,  who 
had  never  seen  the  original,  makes  the  subject  of  his  critical  examination. 
In  the  notes  I  have  introduced  a  few  specimens  of  the  original  work.  Both 
poems  may  be  found  in  the  first  volume  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  ancient  Eng- 
lish poetry, — G. 


204 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  10, 


with  it,  will  meet  with  admirers  amongst  readers  of  all  qualities 
and  conditions.  Moliere,  as  we  are  told  by  Monsieur  Boileau, 
used  to  read  all  his  comedies  to  an  old  woman  who  was  his  house- 
keeper, as  she  sat  with  him  at  her  work  by  the  chimney-corner  ; 
and  could  foretell  the  success  of  his  play  in  the  theatre,  from  the 
reception  it  met  at  his  fire-side  :  for  he  tells  us  the  audience 
always  followed  the  old  woman,  and  never  failed  to  laugh  in  the 
same  place. 

I  know  nothing  which  more  shews  the  essential  and  inherent 
perfection  of  simplicity  of  thought,^  above  that  which  I  call  the 
Gothic  manner  in  writing,  than  this  ;  the  first  pleases  all  kinds  of 
palates,  and  the  latter  only  such  as  have  formed  to  themselves  a 
wrong  artificial  taste  upon  little  fanciful  authors  and  writers  of 
epigram.  Homer,  Virgil,  or  Milton,  so  far  as  the  language  of 
their  poems  is  understood,  will  please  a  reader  of  plain  common 
sense,  who  would  neither  relish  nor  comprehend  an  epigram  of 
Martial,  or  a  poem  of  Cowley  :  so,  on  the  contrary,  an  ordinary 
song  or  ballad,  that  is  the  delight  of  the  common  people,  cannot 
fail  to  please  all  such  readers  as  are  not  unqualified  for  the 
entertainment  by  their  affectation  or  ignorance  ;  and  the  reason  is 
plain,  because  the  same  paintings  of  nature  which  recommend  it  to 
the  most  ordinary  reader,  will  appear  beautiful  to  the  most  refined. 

The  old  song  of  Chevy-Chase  is  the  favourite  ballad  of  the 
common  people  of  England ;  and  Ben  Jonson  used  to  say,  he  had 
rather  have  been  the  author  of  it  than  of  all  his  works.  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  in  his  Discourse  of  Poetry,  speaks  of  it  in  the 
following  words  :  '  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Piercy  and 
Douglas,  that  I  found  not  my  heart  more  moved  than  with  a 
tiumpet;  and  yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blind  Crowder  with  no 
rougher  voice  than  rude  style  ;  which  being  so  evil  apparelled  in 

^  See  Dennis's  Original  Letters,  Fam.  Mor.  and  Grit.  8vo.  1721,  p.  166, 
<fe  seq.' — Letter  to  Henry  Cromwell,  Esq.  on  Simplicity  in  Poetical  Com- 
position.— C. 


No.  70.] 


SPECTATOR 


205 


the  dust  and  cobweb  of  that  uncivil  age,  what  would  it  work; 
trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindar  ?  '  For  my  own 
part  I  am  so  professed  an  admirer  of  this  antiquated  song,  that  I 
shall  give  my  reader  a  critic  upon  it,  without  any  further  apology 
for  so  doing. 

The  greatest  modern  critics  have  laid  it  down  as  a  rule,  that 
an  heroic  poem  should  be  founded  upon  some  important  precept 
of  morality,  adapted  to  the  constitution  of  the  country  in  which 
the  poet  writes.  Homer  and  Virgil  have  formed  their  plans  in 
this  view.  As  Greece  was  a  collection  of  many  governments,  who 
suffered  very  much  among  themselves,  and  gave  the  Persian 
Emperor,  who  was  their  common  enemy,  many  advantages  over 
them  by  their  mutual  jealousies  and  animosities.  Homer,  in  order 
to  establish  among  them  an  union,  which  was  so  necessary  for 
their  safety,  grounds  his  poem  upon  the  discords  of  the  several 
Grrecian  Princes  who  were  engaged  in  a  confederacy  against  an 
Asiatic  Prince,  and  the  several  advantages  which  the  enemy 
gained  by  such  their  discords.^  At  the  time  the  poem  we  are 
now  treating  of  was  written,  the  dissensions  of  the  barons,  who 
were  then  so  many  petty  princes,  ran  very  high,  whether  they 
quarrelled  among  themselves,  or  with  their  neighbours,  and  pro- 
duced unspeakable  calamities  to  the  country  :  the  poet,  to  deter 
men  from  such  unnatural  contentions,  describes  a  bloody  battle, 
and  dreadful  scene  of  death,  occasioned  by  the  mutual  feuds 
which  reigned  in  the  families  of  an  English  and  Scotch  noble- 
man :  that  he  designed  this  for  the  instruction  of  his  poem,  we 
may  learn  from  his  four  last  lines,  in  which,  after  the  example  of 
the  modern  tragedians,  he  draws  from  it  a  precept  for  the  benefit 
of  his  readers. 

^  Eight  different  epochs  are  assigned  to  Homer,  covering  a  space  of 
460  years.  Tlie  whole  of  this  theory  is  untenable  ;  the  moral  of  the  epic 
being,  as  with  Tasso,  a  pure  afterthought. — G. 


206 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  70 


God  save  the  King,  and  bless  the  land 

In  plenty,  joy,  and  peace  ; 
And  grant  henceforth  that  foul  debate 

'Twixt  noblemen  may  cease. i 

The  next  point  observed  by  the  greatest  heroic  poets,  hath 
been  to  celebrate  persons  and  actions  which  do  honour  to  their 
country  :  thus  Virgil's  hero  was  the  founder  of  Rome,  Homer's  a 
Prince  of  Greece ;  and  for  this  reason  Valerius  Flaccus  and 
Statius,  who  were  both  Romans,  might  be  justly  derided  for 
having  chosen  the  expedition  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  and  the  wars 
of  Thebes,  for  the  subjects  of  their  epic  writings. 

The  poet  before  us  has  not  only  found  out  an  hero  in  his  own 
country,  but  raises  the  reputation  of  it  by  several  beautiful  inci- 
dents. The  English  are  the  first  who  take  the  field,  and  the  last 
who  quit  it.  The  English  bring  only  fifteen  hundred  to  the  bat- 
tle, and  the  Scotch  two  thousand.  The  English  kept  the  field 
with  fifty-three  :  the  Scotch  retire  with  fifty-five  :  all  the  rest  on 
each  side  being  slain  in  battle.  But  the  most  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance of  this  kind,  is  the  different  manner  in  which  the 
Scotch  and  English  Kings  receive  the  news  of  this  fight,  and  of 
the  great  men's  deaths  who  command  it.'^ 

This  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 

Where  Scotland's  King  did  reign, 
That  brave  Earl  Douglas  suddenly 

"Was  with  an  arrow  slain. 

^  This  stanza  is  an  addition  of  the  modern  editor,  or  rather  rewriter. 
The  old  poem  closes  with — 

Ihesue  Christ  our  balys  bete, 
And  to  the  blys  us  brynge  I 
Thus  was  the  hountynge  of  the  ChevyaU 
God  send  us  all  good  ending  I— G. 

'-^  According  to  the  old  ballad,  neither  party  flies,  though  the  English  are 
made  to  lose  two  men  less  than  the  Scotch.  A  Scottish  editor  of  the  new  ver- 
sion has  turned  the  tables  upon  the  Englishman,  by  a  transposition  of  the 
first  line,  which  makes  the  English  flee,  while  the  Scotch  keep  the  field. 
V.  Percy  ut  sup.  pp.  2Y1,  272.— G. 


No.  10.] 


SPECTATOR. 


207 


Oh  heavy  news,  King  James  did  say  ; 

Scotland  can  witness  be, 
I  have  not  any  captain  more 

Of  such  account  as  he. 

Like  tidings  to  King  Henry  came 

Within  as  short  a  space, 
That  Piercy  of  Northumberland 

Was  slain  in  Chevy-Chase. 

Now  God  be  with  him,  said  our  King, 

Sith  'twill  no  better  be, 
I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm 

Five  hundred  as  good  as  he.^ 

Yet  shall  not  Scot  nor  Scotland  say 

But  I  will  vengeance  take. 
And  be  revenged  on  them  all 

For  brave  Lord  Piercy's  sake. 

This  vow  full  well  the  King  perform'd 

After  on  Humble-down ; 
In  one  day  fifty  knights  were  slain, 

With  lords  of  great  renown. 

And  of  the  rest  of  small  account 
Did  many  thousands  dye,  (fee. 

At  the  same  time  that  our  poet  shews  a  laudable  partiality  to 
his  country-men,  he  represents  the  Scots  after  a  manner  not  un- 
becoming so  bold  and  brave  a  people. 

Earl  Douglas  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold. 
Rode  foremost  of  the  company, 

Whose  armour  shone  like  gold.^ 

^  The  old  version  reads  with  far  more  effect : 

Hys  handdes  dyd  he  weal  and  wryiig, 

He  sayd,  Alas,  and  woe  ys  me  I 
Such  another  captayn  Skotland  within, 

He  sayd  y-feth  should  never  he,  &c.— G. 

2  The  dougheti  Dogglas  on  a  stede 
He  rode  att  his  men  heforne ; 
His  armor  glytteryde  as  dyd  a  Glede ; 
A.  bolder  barne  was  never  born. 

Old  Copy.--G. 


208 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  70 


His  sentiments  and  actions  are  every  way  suitable  to  an  hero, 
One  of  us  two,  says  he,  must  die :  I  am  an  earl  as  well  as  your- 
self, so  that  you  can  have  no  pretence  for  refusing  the  combat : 
however,  says  he,  'tis  pity,  and  indeed  would  be  a  sin,  that  so 
many  innocent  men  should  perish  for  our  sakes,  rather  let  you 
and  I  end  our  quarrel  in  single  fight. 

Ere  thus  I  will  out-braved  be, 

One  of  us  two  shall  die. 
I  know  thee  well,  an  Earl  thou  art, 
Lord  Piercy,  so  am  I. 

But  trust  me,  Piercy,  pity  it  were, 

And  great  offence,  to  kill 
Any  of  these  our  harmless  men, 

For  they  have  done  no  ill. 

Let  thou  and  I  the  battle  try, 

And  set  our  men  aside. 
Accurst  be  he,  Lord  Piercy  said,* 

By  whom  this  is  deny'd. 

When  these  brave  men  had  distinguished  themselves  in  the 
battle,  and  in  single  combat  with  each  other,  in  the  midst  of  a 
generous  parly,  full  of  heroic  sentiments,  the  Scotch  earl  falls; 
and  with  his  dying  words  encourages  his  men  to  revenge  his  death, 
representing  to  them  as  the  most  bitter  circumstances  of  it,  that 
his  rival  saw  him  fall. 

With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen 

Out  of  an  English  bow. 
Which  struck  Earl  Douglas  to  the  heart 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow. 

Who  never  spoke  more  words  than  these, 

Fight  on  my  merry  men  all, 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end, 

Lord  Piercy  sees  me  fall.^ 

^  An  improvement  upon  the  old  poem. — G. 

-  Here  the  original  poem  is  very  spirited  ;  but  the  beautiful  thought, 
which  Addison  admires  so  much,  belongs  to  the  modern  poet. — G. 


-No.  10.] 


SPECTATOR. 


209 


Merry  Men,  in  the  language  of  those  times,  is  no  more  than  a 
cheerful  word  for  companions  and  fellow-soldiers.  A  passage  in 
the  eleventh  book  of  Virgil's  ^-Eneid  is  very  much  to  be  admired, 
where  Camilla,  in  her  last  agonies,  instead  of  weeping  over  the 
wound  she  had  received,  as  one  might  have  expected  from  a  war- 
rior of  her  sex,  considers  only  (like  the  hero  of  whom  we  are  now 
speaking)  how  the  battle  should  be  continued  after  her  death. 

Tom  sic  expirans,  &c. 
A  gathering  mist  overclouds  lier  cheerful  eyes, 
And  from  her  cheeks  the  rosy  colour  flies  ; 
Then  turns  to  her,  whom,  of  her  female  train, 
She  trusted  most,  and  thus  she  speaks  with  pain. 
Acca,  'tis  past!  he  swims  before  my  sight. 
Inexorable  death  ;  and  claims  his  right. 
Bear  my  last  words  to  Turnus  :  fly  with  speed, 
And  bid  him  timely  to  my  charge  succeed : 
Repel  the  Trojans,  and  the  town  relieve, 
Farewel.  •  

Turnus  did  not  die  in  so  heroic  a  manner ;  though  our  poet 
seems  to  have  had  his  eye  upon  Turnus's  speech  in  the  last  verse. 

Lord  Piercy  sees  me  fall. 

 Vicisti,  et  victum  tendere  palmas 

Ausonii  videre  

The  Latian  chiefs  have  seen  me  beg  my  life. 

Drydex. 

Earl  Piercy's  lamentation  over  his  enemy  is  generous,  beauti- 
ful and  passionate ;  I  must  only  caution  the  reader  not  to  let  the 
simplicity  of  the  style,  which  one  may  well  pardon  in  so  old  a 
poet,  prejudice  him  against  the  greatness  of  the  thought. 

Then  leaving  life^  Earl  Piercy  took 

The  dead  man  by  the  hand. 
And  said,  Earl  Douglas,  for  thy  life 

Would  I  had  lost  my  land.^ 

^  Here  the  old  poem  has  a  picture,  which  is  entirely  lost  in  the  modern ; 


210  SPECTATOR.  [No.  12, 

O  Christ !  my  very  heart  doth  bleed 

With  sorrow  for  thy  sake  ; 
For  sure  a  more  renowned  knight 

Mischance  did  never  take. 

That  beautiful  line,  taking  the  dead  man  by  the  hand,  will  put 
the  reader  in  mind  of  ^neas's  behaviour  towards  Lausus,  whom 
he  himself  had  slain  as  he  came  to  the  rescue  of  his  aged  father. 

At  vero  ut  vultum  vidit  morientis,  et  ora, 

Ora  modis  Anchisiades  pallentia  miris : 

Ingemuit  miserans  graviter,  dextramque  tetendit,  &e. 

The  pious  prince  beheld  young  Lausus  dead ; 

He  grieved,  he  wept;  then  grasp'd  his  hand,  and  said, 

Poor  hapless  youth  !  what  praises  can  be  paid 

To  worth  so  great  ! 

I  shall  take  another  opportunity  to  consider  the  other  parts  of 

this  old  song.  C. 


No.  72.    WEDNESDAY,  MAY  23. 

 Genus  imniortale  manet,  multosque  per  annos 

Statfortuna  domus,  et  avi  numerantur  avorum. 

YiRG.  Georg.  iv.,  208. 
Th'  immortal  line  in  sure  succession  reigns, 
The  fortune  of  the  family  remains. 
And  grandsires  grandsons  the  long  list  contains. 

Dkydex. 

Having  already  given  my  reader  an  account  of  several  extra- 
ordinary clubs,  both  ancient  and  modern,  I  did  not  design  to  have 
troubled  him  with  any  more  narratives  of  this  nature  :  but  I  have 
lately  received  information  of  a  club  which  I  can  call  neither  an- 

though  the  beautiful  incident  of  taking  the  dead  man  by  the  hand  has 
been  preserved. 

The  Pers^  Icanyde  on  his  brande, 

And  saw  the  Duglas  de  ; 
lie  tooke  the  dede  man  be  the  hande, 

And  sayd,  Wo  ys  me  for  the ! — G. 


No.  72.] 


SPECTATOR. 


211 


cient  nor  modern,  that  I  dare  say  will  be  no  less  surprising  to  my 
reader  than  it  was  to  myself ;  for  which  reason  I  shall  communi- 
cate it  to  the  public  as  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  its  kind. 

A  friend  of  mine  complaining  of  a  tradesman  who  is  related 
to  him,  after  having  represented  him  as  a  very  idle,  worthless 
fellow,  who  neglected  his  family,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  over 
a  bottle,  told  me,  to  conclude  his  character,  that  he  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Everlasting  Club.  So  very  odd  a  title  raised  my  curi- 
osity to  inquire  into  the  nature  of  a  club  that  had  such  a  sound- 
ing name  ;  upon  which  my  friend  gave  me  the  following  account. 

^  The  Everlasting  Club  consists  of  a  hundred  members,  who 
divide  the  whole  twenty-four  hours  among  them  in  such  a  manner, 
that  the  club  sits  day  and  night  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  ano- 
ther ;  no  party  presuming  to  rise  till  they  are  relieved  by  those 
who  are  in  course  to  succeed  them.  By  this  means  a  member  of 
the  Everlasting  Club  never  wants  company ;  for  though  he  is  not 
upon  duty  himself,  he  is  sure  to  find  some  who  are ;  so  that  if  he 
be  disposed  to  take  a  whet,  a  nooning,  an  evening's  draught,  or  a 
bottle  after  midnight,  he  goes  to  the  club,  and  finds  a  knot  of 
friends  to  his  mind. 

*  It  is  a  maxim  in  this  club,  that  the  steward  never  dies ;  for 
as  they  succeed  one  another  byway  of  rotation,  no  man  is  to  quit  the 
great  elbow-chair  which  stands  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  till 
his  successor  is  in  a  readiness  to  fill  it ;  insomuch,  that  there  has 
not  been  a  Sede  vacante  in  the  memory  of  man. 

'  This  club  was  instituted  towards  the  end  (or,  as  some  of 
them  say,  about  the  middle)  of  the  Civil  Wars,  and  continued 
without  interruption  till  the  time  of  the  Great  Fire,^  which  burnt 
them  out,  and  dispersed  them  for  several  weeks.  The  steward 
at  that  time  maintained  his  post  till  he  had  like  to  have  been 
blown  up  with  a  neighboring  house,  (which  was  demolished  in  or- 

1  1666. 


212 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  12. 


der  to  stop  the  fire,)  and  would  not  leave  the  chair  at  last,  till  he 
had  emptied  all  the  bottles  upon  the  table,  and  received  repeated 
directions  from  the  club  to  withdraw  himself.  This  steward  is 
frequently  talked  of  in  the  club,  and  looked  upon  by  every  mem- 
ber of  it  as  a  greater  man  than  the  famous  captain  mentioned  in 
my  Lord  Clarendon,  who  was  burnt  in  his  ship  because  he  would 
not  quit  it  without  orders.  It  is  said  that  towards  the  close  of 
1700,  being  the  great  year  of  jubilee,  the  club  had  it  under  con- 
sideration whether  they  should  break  up,  or  continus  their  ses- 
sion ;  but,  after  many  speeches  and  debates,  it  was  at  length 
agreed  to  sit  out  the  other  century.  This  resolution  passed  in  a 
general  club  Nemine  contradicente.^ 

Having  given  this  short  account  of  the  institution  and  con- 
tinuation of  the  Everlasting  Club,  I  should  here  endeavour  to 
say  something  of  the  manners  and  characters  of  its  several  mem- 
bers, which  I  shall  do  according  to  the  best  light  I  have  received 
m  this  matter. 

It  appears  by  their  books  in  general,  that  since  their  first  in- 
stitution, they  have  smoked  fifty  tun  of  tobacco,  drank  thirty 
thousand  butts  of  ale,  one  thousand  hogsheads  of  red  port,  two 
hundred  barrels  of  brandy,  and  a  kilderkin  of  small  beer  :  there 
has  been  likewise  a  great  consumption  of  cards.  It  is  also  said, 
that  they  observe  the  law  in  Ben  Jonson's  club,  which  orders  the 
fire  to  be  always  kept  in  [focus  pereiinis  esto)  as  well  for  the 
convenience  of  lighting  their  pipes,  as  to  cure  the  dampness  of 
the  club-room.  They  have  an  old  woman  in  the  nature  of  a  ves- 
tal^ whose  business  it  is  to  cherish  and  perpetuate  the  fire,  which 
burns  from  generation  to  generation,  and  has  seen  the  glass-house 
fires  in  and  out  above  an  hundred  times. 

The  Everlasting  Club  treats  all  other  clubs  with  an  eye  of 
contempt,  and  talks  even  of  the  Kit-Cat  and  October  as  of  a  couple 
of  upstarts.    Their  ordinary  discourse  (as  much  as  I  have  been 


No.  72.] 


SPECTATOR. 


213 


able  to  learn  of  it)  turns  altogether  upon  such  adventures  as  have 
passed  in  their  own  assembly ;  of  members  who  have  taken  the 
glass  in  their  turns  for  a  week  together,  without  stirring  out  of 
the  club ;  of  others  who  have  smoked  an  hundred  pipes  at  a  sit- 
ting; of  others  who  have  not  missed  their  morning's  draught  for 
twenty  years  together  ;  sometimes  they  speak  in  raptures  of  a  run 
of  ale  in  King  Charles's  reign ;  and  sometimes  reflect  with  asto- 
nishment upon  games  at  whist,  which  have  been  miraculously 
recovered  by  members  of  the  society,  when  in  all  human  probabi- 
lity the  case  was  desperate. 

They  delight  in  several  old  catches,  which  they  sing  at  all 
hours  to  encourage  one  another  to  moisten  their  clay,  and  grow 
immortal  by  drinking ;  with  many  other  edifying  exhortations  of 
the  like  nature. 

There  are  four  general  clubs  held  in  a  year,  at  which  times 
they  fill  up  vacancies,  appoint  waiters,  confirm  the  old  fire-maker, 
or  elect  a  new  one,  settle  contributions  for  coals,  pipes,  tobacco, 
and  other  necessaries. 

The  senior  member  has  out-lived  the  whole  club  twice  over, 
and  has  been  drunk  with  the  grandfathers  of  some  of  the  present 
sitting  membera  C. 


214 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  1Z 


No.  73.    THURSDAY,  MAY.  24. 

 O  Dea  certe ! 

ViRG.  Mn.  1,  332. 
O  Goddess !  for  no  less  you  seem. 

It  is  very  strange  to  considerj  that  a  creature  like  man,  who 
is  sensible  of  so  many  weaknesses  and  imperfections,  should  be 
actuated  by  a  love  of  fame  ;  that  vice  and  ignorance,  imperfection 
and  misery,  should  contend  for  praise,  and  endeavour  as  much  as 
possible  to  make  themselves  objects  of  admiration. 

But  notwithstanding  man's  essential  perfection  is  but  very 
little,  his  comparative  perfection  may  be  very  considerable.  If 
he  looks  upon  himself  in  an  abstracted  light,  he  has  not  much  to 
boast  of ;  but  if  he  considers  himself  with  regard  to  others,  he 
may  find  occasion  of  glorying,  if  not  in  his  own  virtues,  at  least 
in  the  absence  of  another's  imperfections.  This  gives  a  different 
turn  to  the  reflections  of  the  wise  man  and  the  fool.  The  first 
endeavours  to  shine  in  himself,  and  the  last  to  out-shine  others. 
The  first  is  humbled  by  the  sense  of  his  own  infirmities,  the  last 
is  lifted  up  by  the  discovery  of  those  which  he  observes  in  other 
men.  The  wise  man  considers  what  he  wants,  and  the  fool  what 
he  abounds  in.  The  wise  man  is  happy  when  he  gains  his  own 
approbation,  and  the  fool  when  he  recommends  himself  to  the  ap- 
plause of  those  about  him. 

But  however  unreasonable  and  absurd  this  passion  for  admi- 
ration may  appear  in  such  a  creature  as  man,  it  is  not  wholly  to 
be  discouraged ;  since  it  often  produces  very  good  effects,  not 
only  as  it  restrains  him  from  doing  any  thing  which  is  mean  and 
contemptible,  but  as  it  pushes  him  to  actions  which  are  great 
and  glorious.    The  principle  may  be  defective  or  faulty,  but  the 


No,  is.] 


SPECTATOR. 


215 


consequences  it  produces  are  so  good,  that,  for  the  benefit  of  man- 
kind, it  ought  not  to  be  extinguished. 

T.t  is  observed  by  Cicero,  that  men  of  the  greatest  and  the 
most  shining  parts,  are  the  most  actuated  by  ambition ;  and  if 
we  look  into  the  two  sexes,  I  believe  we  shall  find  this  principle 
of  action  stronger  in  v>^omen  than  in  men. 

The  passion  for  praise,  which  is  so  very  vehement  in  the  fair 
sex,  produces  excellent  eifects  in  women  of  sense,  who  desire  to 
be  admired  for  that  only  which  deserves  admiration  :  and  I 
think  we  may  observe,  without  a  compliment  to  them,  that  many 
of  them  do  not  only  live  in  a  more  uniform  course  of  virtue,  but 
with  an  infinitely  greater  regard  to  their  honour,  than  what  we 
find  in  the  generality  of  our  own  sex.  How  many  instances  have 
we  of  chastity,  fidelity,  devotion  !  How  many  ladies  distinguish 
themselves  by  the  education  of  their  children,  care  of  their 
families,  and  love  of  their  husbands,  which  are  the  great  qualities 
and  achievements  of  womankind  1  as  the  making  of  war,  the 
carrying  on  of  traffic,  the  administration  of  justice,  are  those  by 
which  men  grow  famous,  and  get  themselves  a  name. 

But  as  this  passion  for  admiration,  when  it  works  according 
to  reason,  improves  the  beautiful  part  of  our  species  in  every 
thing  that  is  laudable  ;  so  nothing  is  more  destructive  to  them 
when  it  is  governed  by  vanity  and  folly.  What  I  have,  there- 
fore, here  to  say,  only  regards  the  vain  part  of  the  sex,  whom 
for  certain  reasons,  which  the  reader  will  hereafter  see  at  large, 
I  shall  distinguish  by  the  name  of  Idols.  An  Idol  is  wholly 
taken  up  in  the  adorning  of  her  person.  You  see  in  every  pos- 
ture of  her  body,  air  of  her  face,  and  motion  of  her  head,  that  it 
is  her  business  and  employment  to  gain  adorers.  For  this  rea- 
son your  Idols  appear  in  all  public  places  and  assemblies,  in 
order  to  seduce  men  to  their  worship.  The  playhouse  is  very 
frequently  filled  with  Idols  ;  several  of  them  are  carried  in  pro- 


216 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  73. 


cession  every  evening  about  the  ring,  and  several  of  them  set  up 
their  worship  even  in  churches.  They  are  to  be  accosted  in  the 
language  proper  to  the  Deity.  Life  and  death  are  in  their  power : 
joys  of  heaven  and  pains  of  hell  are  at  their  disposal  :  paradise 
is  in  their  arms,  and  eternity  in  every  moment  that  you  are  pre- 
sent with  them.  Raptures,  transports,  and  ecstacies,  are  the 
rewards  which  they  confer  :  sighs  and  tears,  prayers  and  broken 
hearts,  are  the  offerings  which  are  paid  to  them.  Their  smiles 
make  men  happy  ;  their  frowns  drive  them  to  despair.  I  shall 
only  add  under  this  head,  that  Ovid's  book  of  The  Art  of  Love 
is  a  kind  of  heathen  ritual,  which  contains  all  the  forms  of  wor- 
ship which  are  made  use  of  to  an  Idol. 

It  would  be  as  difficult  a  task  to  reckon  up  these  different 
kinds  of  Idols,  as  Milton's  was  to  number  those  that  were  known 
in  Canaan,  and  the  lands  adjoining.  Most  of  them  are  worship- 
ped, like  Moloch,  in  fires  and  flames.  Some  of  them,  like  Baal, 
love  to  see  their  votaries  cut  and  slashed,  and  shedding  their 
blood  for  them.  Some  of  them,  like  the  Idol  in  the  Apocrypha, 
must  have  treats  and  collations  prepared  for  them  every  night. 
It  has,  indeed,  been  known,  that  some  of  them  have  been  used 
by  their  incensed  worshippers  like  the  Chinese  Idols,  who  are 
whipped  and  scourged  when  they  refuse  to  comply  with  the 
prayers  that  are  offered  to  them. 

I  must  here  observe,  that  those  idolaters  who  devote  them- 
selves to  the  Idols  I  am  here  speaking  of,  differ  very  much  from 
all  other  kinds  of  Idolaters.  For  as  others  fall  out  because  they 
worship  different  Idols,  these  Idolaters  quarrel  because  they 
worship  the  same. 

The  intention,  therefore,  of  the  Idol,  is  quite  contrary  to  the 
wishes  of  the  Idolater  ;  as  the  one  desires  to  confine  the  Idol  to 
himself,  the  whole  business  and  ambition  of  the  other  is  to  mul- 
tiply adorers.    This  humour  of  an  Idol  is  prettily  described  in  a 


No.  73.] 


SPECTATOR. 


217 


tale  of  Chaucer  :  he  represents  one  of  them  sitting  at  a  table 
with  three  of  her  votaries  about  her,  who  are  all  of  them  court- 
ing her  favour,  and  paying  their  adorations :  she  smiled  upon 
one,  drank  to  another,  and  trod  upon  the  other's  foot  which  was 
under  the  table.  Now  which  of  these  three,  says  the  old  bard, 
do  you  think  was  the  favourite  ?  '  In  troth,  (says  he,)  not  one 
of  all  the  three.' 

The  behaviour  of  this  old  Idol  in  Chaucer,  puts  me  in  mind 
of  the  beautiful  Clarinda,  one  of  the  greatest  Idols  among 
the  moderns.  She  is  worshipped  once  a  week  by  candle-light  in 
the  midst  of  a  large  congregation,  generally  called  an  assembly. 
Some  of  the  gayest  youths  in  the  nation  endeavour  to  plant 
themselves  in  her  eye,  while  she  sits  in  form  with  multitudes  of 
tapers  burning  about  her.  To  encourage  the  zeal  of  her  idolaters, 
she  bestows  a  mark  of  her  favour  upon  every  one  of  them  before 
they  go  out  of  her  presence.  She  asks  a  question  of  one,  tells  a 
story  to  another,  glances  an  ogle  upon  a  third,  takes  a  pinch  of 
snufF  from  the  fourth,  lets  her  fan  drop  by  accident  to  give  the 
fifth  an  occasion  of  taking  it  up.  In  short,  every  one  goes  away 
satisfied  with  his  success,  and  encouraged  to  renew  his  devotions 
at  the  same  canonical  hour  that  day  seven-night. 

An  Idol  may  be  undeified  by  many  accidental  causes.  Mar- 
riage, in  particular,  is  a  kind  of  counter-apotheosis,  or  a  deifica- 
tion inverted.  When  a  man  becomes  familiar  with  his  goddess, 
she  quickly  sinks  into  a  woman. 

Old  age  is  likewise  a  great  decayer  of  your  Idol :  the  truth 
of  it  is,  there  is  not  a  more  unhappy  being  than  a  superannuated 
Idol,  especially  when  she  has  contracted  such  airs  and  behaviour 
as  are  only  graceful  when  her  worshippers  are  about  her. 

Considering,  therefore,  that  in  these  and  many  other  cases  the 

woman  generally  outlives  the  Idol,  I  must  return  to  the  moral  of 

this  paper,  and  desire  my  fair  readers  to  give  a  proper  direction 
VOL.  v.^ — 10 


218 


SPECTATOR. 


[No,  14. 


to  their  passion  for  being  admired :  in  order  to  which,  they  must 
endeavour  to  make  themselves  the  objects  of  a  reasonable  and 
lasting  admiration.  This  is  not  to  be  hoped  for  from  beauty,  or 
dress,  or  fashion,  but  from  those  inward  ornaments  which  are  not 
to  be  defaced  by  time  or  sickness,  and  which  appear  most  amiable 
to  those  who  are  most  acquainted  with  them.  C. 


No.  74.    FRIDAY,  MAY  25. 

 Pendent  opera  interrupta  

ViKG.  ^n.  iv.  88. 

The  works  unfinished  and  neglected  lie. 

In  my  last  Monday's  paper  I  gave  some  general  instances  of 
those  beautiful  strokes  which  please  the  reader  in  the  old  song 
of  Chevy-Chase ;  I  shall  here,  according  to  my  promise,  be  more 
particular,  and  shew  that  the  sentiments  in  that  ballad  are 
extremely  natural  and  poetical,  and  full  of  the  majestic  simplicity 
which  we  admire  in  the  greatest  of  the  ancient  poets :  for  which 
reason  I  shall  quote  several  passages  of  it,  in  which  the  thought 
is  altogether  the  same  with  what  we  meet  in  several  passages  of 
the  JEneid  ;  not  that  I  would  infer  from  thence,  that  the  poet 
(whoever  he  was)  proposed  to  himself  any  imitation  of  those  pas- 
sages, but  that  he  was  directed  to  them  in  general  by  the  same 
kind  of  poetical  genius,  and  by  the  same  copyings  after  nature. 

Had  this  old  song  been  filled  with  epigrammatical  turns  and 
points  of  wit,  it  might  perhaps  have  pleased  the  wrong  taste 
of  some  readers ;  but  it  would  never  have  become  the  delight  of 
the  common  people,  nor  have  warmed  the  heart  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet;  it  is  only  nature  that 
can  have  this  effect,  and  please  those  tastes  which  are  the  most 


[No.  74. 


SPECTATOR. 


219 


unprejudiced,  or  the  most  refined.  I  must,  however,  beg  leave  to 
dissent  from  so  great  an  authority  as  that  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
in  the  judgment  which  he  has  passed  as  to  the  rude  style 
and  evil  apparel  of  this  antiquated  song;  for  there  are  several 
parts  in  it,  where  not  only  the  thought,  but  the  language, 
is  majestic,  and  the  numbers  sonorous  ;^  at  least,  the  apparel  is 
much  more  gorgeous  than  many  of  the  poets  made  use  of  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  time,  as  the  reader  will  see  in  several  of  the  following 
quotations. 

"What  can  be  greater  than  either  the  thought  or  the  expres- 
sion in  that  stanza  ? 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn 

Earl  Piercy  took  his  way : 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn 

The  hunting  of  that  day  ! 

This  way  of  considering  the  misfortunes  which  this  battle  would 
bring  upon  posterity,  not  only  on  those  who  were  born  imme- 
diately after  the  battle,  and  lost  their  fathers  in  it,  but  on  those 
also  who  perished  in  future  battles,  which  took  their  rise  from 
this  quarrel  of  the  two  Earls,  is  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  con- 
formable to  the  way  of  thinking  among  the  ancient  poets. 

Audiet  pugnas  vitio  parenturn 
Rara  juventus. 

HoR.  Od.  2.  1,  1.  V.  23. 

Posterity,  thinn'd  by  their  fathers'  crimes, 
Shall  read  with  grief  the  story  of  their  times. 

What  can  be  more  sounding  and  poetical,  or  resemble  more  the 
majestic  simplicity  of  the  ancients,  than  the  following  stanzas  ? 

1  V.  D.  BlackwelFs  Enquiry  into  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Homer. 
Second  edition,  8vo.,  1736,  sect.  v.  pp.  59,  60. — C. 

^  Found  only  in  the  modern  poem,  except  the  third  line. — Gr. 


220 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  74, 


The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

Three  summer's  days  to  take. 

AVith  fifteen  hundred  bowmen  bold, 

All  chosen  men  of  might, 
Who  knew  full  well,  in  time  of  need, 

To  aim  their  shafts  aright. 

The  hounds  ran  swiftly  thro'  the  woods 

The  nimble  deer  to  take, 
And  with  their  cries  the  hills  and  dales 

An  echo  shrill  did  make,^ 

 'Yocat  ingenti  clamore  Cithaeron 

Taygetique  canes,  domitrixque  Epidaurus  equorum: 
Et  vox  assensu  nemorum  ingemiuata  remugit. 

Georg.  3,  V.  43. 

Cithaeron  loudly  calls  me  to  my  way; 

Thy  hounds,  Ta^^getus,  open  and  pursue  the  prey: 

High  Epidaurus  urges  on  my  speed, 

Fam'd  for  his  hills,  and  for  his  horses'  breed; 

From  hills  and  dales  the  cheerful  cries  rebound; 

For  echo  hunts  along,  and  propagates  the  sound. 

Dryden. 

Lo,  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come, 

His  men  in  armour  bright ; 
Full  twenty  hundred  Scottish  spears. 

All  marching  in  our  sight ; 

All  men  of  pleasant  Tividale, 
Fast  by  the  river  Tweed,  <fec. 

The  country  of  the  Scotch  warriors,  described  in  these  two  last 
verses,  has  a  fine  romantic  situation,  and  affords  a  couple  of 
smooth  words  for  verse.  If  the  reader  compares  the  foregoing 
six  lines  of  the  song  with  the  following  Latin  verses,  he  will  see 
how  much  they  are  written  in  the  spirit  of  Virgil. 

Adversi  campo  apparent,  hastasque  reductis 
Protendunt  longb  dextris ;  et  spicula  vibrant ; 

1  The  greater  part  of  these  three  fine  stanzas  belongs  to  the  modern 
poet. — G. 


Ko.  14.] 


SPECTATOR. 


221 


Quique  altum  Praeneste  viri,  quique  arva  Gabinse 
Junonis,  gelidumque  Anienem,  et  roscida  rivis 

Hernica  saxa  colunt :  qui  rosea  riira  Velini, 

Qui  Tetricse  horrentes  rupes,  montemque  Severum, 
Casperiamque  colunt,  Forulosque  et  flumen  Himellse : 

Qui  Tiberim  Faburimque  bibunt.  

jEu.  11,  V.  605,  V.  582,  712. 

Advancing  in  a  line,  tlie}^  couch  their  spears — 

 Prseneste  sends  a  chosen  band, 

With  those  who  plough  Saturnia's  Gabine  land : 
Besides  the  succours  which  cold  Anien  yields ; 

The  rocks  of  Hernicus  besides  a  band. 

That  followed  from  Velinum's  dewy  land  

And  mountaineers  that  from  Severus  came: 
And  from  the  craggy  cliffs  of  Tetrica ; 
And  those  where  yellow  Tiber  takes  his  way, 
And  where  Himella's  wanton  waters  play; 
Casperia  sends  her  arms,  with  those  that  lie 
By  Fabaris,  and  fruitful  Foruli. 

Dryden. 

But  to  proceed  : 

Earl  Douglas,  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  Baron  bold, 
Kode  foremost  of  the  company, 

Whose  armour  shone  like  gold.^ 

Turnus  ut  antevolans  tardum  praecesserat  agmen,  <fea 
Yidisti,  quo  Turnus  equo,  quibus  ibut  in  armis 
Aureus  

Our  English  archers  bent  their  bows. 
Their  hearts  were  good  and  true; 

At  the  first  flight  of  arrows  sent, 
Full  threescore  Scots  they  slew. 

They  clos'd  full  fast  on  ev'ry  side, 
No  slackness  there  was  found; 

And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 
Lay  gasping  on  the  ground. 

-  V.  No.  70,  note  on  tliis  stanza,  p.  207.— G. 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  74. 


With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen 

Out  of  an  English  bow, 
Which  struck  Earl  Douglas  to  the  heart 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow.^ 

uEneas  was  wounded  after  the  same  manner  by  an  unknown 
hand  in  the  midst  of  a  parley. 

Has  inter  voces,  media  inter  talia  verba, 
Ecce  viro  stridens  alis  allapsa  sagitta  est, 

Incertum  qu^  pulsa  manu  

-^n.  12,  V.  318. 

Thus  while  he  spake,  unmindful  of  defence, 
A  winged  arrow  struck  the  pious  prince, 
But  whether  from  a  human  hand  it  came, 
Or  hostile  god,  is  left  unknown  by  fame. 

Dryden. 

But  of  all  the  descriptive  parts  of  this  song,  there  are  none  more 
beautiful  than  the  four  following  stanzas,  which  have  a  great  force 
and  spirit  in  them,  and  are  filled  with  very  natural  circumstances. 
The  thought  in  the  third  stanza  was  never  touched  by  any  other 
poet,  and  is  such  an  one  as  would  have  shined  in  Homer  or  in 
Virgil. 

So  thus  did  both  these  nobles  die. 

Whose  courage  none  could  stain  ; 
An  English  archer  then  perceiv'd 

The  noble  Earl  was  slain. 

He  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand, 

Made  of  a  trusty  tree, 
An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yard  long 

Unto  the  head  drew  he. 

Against  Sir  Hugh  Montgomery 

So  right  his  shaft  he  set. 
The  gray-goose  wing,  that  w^as  thereon, 

In  his  heart-blood  was  wet. 

1  Here,  the  modern  poet,  lias  improved  upon  his  original,  both  in 
incident  and  expression. — G. 


No.  li,} 


SPECTATOR. 


223 


This  fight  did  last  from  break  of  day 

Till  setting  of  the  sun ; 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening  tiell, 

The  battle  scarce  was  done. 

One  may  observe  likewise,  that  in  the  catalogue  of  the  slain,  the 
author  has  followed  the  example  of  the  greatest  ancient  poets, 
not  only  in  giving  a  long  list  of  the  dead,  but  by  diversifying  it 
with  little  characters  of  particular  persons. 

And  with  Earl  Douglas  there  was  slain 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery; 
Sir  Charles  Carrell,  that  from  the  field 

One  foot  would  never  fly : 

Sir  Charles  Murrel  of  Ratcliff  too, 

His  sister's  son  was  he ; 
Sir  David  Lamb,  so  well  esteem' d, 

Yet  saved  could  not  be. 

The  familiar  sound  in  these  names  destroys  the  majesty  of  the 
description  :  for  this  reason  I  do  not  mention  this  part  of  the 
poem  but  to  shew  the  natural  cast  of  thought  which  appears  in  it, 
as  the  two  last  verses  look  almost  like  a  translation  of  Virgil. 

 Cadit  et  Ripheus  justissimus  unus 

Qui  fuit  in  Teucris  et  servantissimus  sequi, 
Diis  aliter  visum  est 

^n.  2,  V.  426. 

Then  Ripheus  fell  in  the  unequal  fight, 
Just  of  his  word,  observant  of  the  right : 
Heav'n  thought  not  so. 

Dryden. 

In  the  catalogue  of  the  English  who  fell,  Witherington's  behav- 
iour is  in  the  same  manner  particularized  very  artfully,  as  the 
reader  is  prepared  for  it  by  that  account  which  is  given  of  him  in 
the  beginning  of  the  battle;  though  I  am  satisfied  your  little 
buffoon  readers  (who  have  seen  that  passage  ridiculed  in  Hudi- 


224 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  74. 


bras)  will  not  be  able  to  take  the  beauty  of  it :  for  which  reason 
I  dare  not  so  much  as  quote  it.^ 

Then  stept  a  gallant  squire  forth, 

Witherington  was  his  name, 
Who  said,  I  would  not  have  it  told, 

To  Henry,  our  King,  for  shame. 

That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot. 
And  I  stood  looking  on. 

We  meet  with  the  same  heroic  sentiment  in  Virgil. 

Non  pudet,  0  Rutuli,  cunctis  pro  talibus  unara 
Objectare  animam  ?  numerone  an  viribus  a3qui 
Non  sumus  ? 

^n.  12,  V.  229. 
For  shame,  Rutulians,  can  you  bear  the  sight 
Of  one  expos'd  for  all,  in  single  fight? 
Can  we,  before  the  face  of  heav'n,  confess 
Our  courage  colder,  or  our  numbers  less  ? 

Dryden. 

What  can  be  more  natural,  or  more  moving,  than  the  circumstan- 
ces in  which  he  describes  the  behaviour  of  those  women  who  had 
lost  their  husbands  on  this  fatal  day  ? 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come,'^ 

Their  husbands  to  bewail ; 
They  wasli'd  their  wounds  in  brinish  tears. 

But  all  would  not  prevail. 

^  A  sufficient  proof  if  others  were  wanting  that  Addison  had  never  seen 
the  original  poem,  which  has  no  traces  of  the  ludicrous  idea  of  the  rifaci- 
mento. 

For  Wertbaryngton  my  hearte  was  wo, 

That  ever  he  slayne  shulde  be ; 
For  when  both  his  leggis  wear  hewyne  In  to, 

Yet  he  knyled  and  fought  on  hys  kne. — G. 

2  If  Addison  had  had  the  old  poem  before  him,  he  would  have  been  stil] 
more  struck  with  this  beautiful  passage. 

So  on  the  morrowe  the  inayde  them  byears 

Off  byrch  and  hasell  so  '  gray ' ; 
Many  wedous  with  wepyng  tears 
Cam  to  fach  thcr  makys  a-way.— G. 


No  81.1 


SPECTATOR. 


225 


Tlieir  bodies,  bath'd  in  purple  blood, 

They  bore  with  them  away  : 
They  kiss'd  them  dead  a  thousand  times 

When  they  were  clad  in  clay. 

Thus  we  see  how  the  thoughts  of  this  poem,  which  naturally  arise 
from  the  subject,  are  always  simple,  and  sometimes  exquisitely 
noble;  that  the  language  is  often  very  sounding,  and  that  the 
whole  is  written  with  a  true  poetical  spirit. 

If  this  song  had  been  written  in  the  Gothic  manner,  which  is 
the  delight  of  all  our  little  wits,  whether  writers  or  readers,  it 
would  not  have  hit  the  taste  of  so  many  ages,  and  have  pleased 
the  readers,  of  all  ranks  and  conditions.  I  shall  only  beg  pardon 
for  such  a  profusion  of  Latin  quotations  :  which  I  should  not 
have  made  use  of,  but  that  I  feared  my  own  judgment  would 
have  looked  too  singular  on  such  a  subject,  had  not  I  supported 
it  by  the  practice  and  authority  of  Virgil.*  C. 


No.  81.    SATURDAY,  JUNE  2. 

Qualis  ubi  audito  venantum  murmiire  tigris 
Horruit  in  maculas  

Statius,  Theb.  ii.  128. 
As  when  the  tigress  hears  the  hunter's  din, 
A  thousand  angry  spots  defile  her  skin. 

About  the  middle  of  last  winter,  I  went  to  see  an  opera  at 
the  theatre  in  the  Haymarket,  where  I  could  not  but  take  notice 
of  two  parties  of  very  fine  women,  that  had  placed  themselves  in 

»  It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  once  for  all,  that  Mr.  Addison's  critical 
papers  discover  his  own  good  taste ;  and  are  calculated  to  improve  that  of 
his  reader  ;  but  otherwise  have  no  great  merit.  He  rarely  makes  a  wrong 
judgment  of  the  passages  he  quotes,  but  does  not  tell  us  on  what  grounds 
(or  at  least  in  too  general  terms)  that  judgment  was,  or  ought  to  have  been 
founded. — H. 


VOL.    V. — 10* 


^26 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  81. 


the  opposite  side-boxes,  and  seemed  drawn  up  in  a  kind  of  battle 
array  one  against  another.^  After  a  short  survey  of  them,  I 
found  they  were  patched  differently;  the  faces,  on  one  hand, 
being  spotted  on  the  right  side  of  the  forehead,  and  those  upon 
the  other  on  the  left :  I  quickly  perceived  that  they  cast  hostile 
glances  upon  one  another ;  and  that  their  patches  were  placed  in 
these  different  situations,  as  party  signals  to  distinguish  friends 
from  foes.  In  the  middle  boxes,  between  these  two  opposite 
bodies,  were  several  ladies  who  patched  indifferently  on  both 
sides  of  their  faces,  and  seemed  to  sit  there  with  no  other  inten- 
tion but  to  see  the  opera.  Upon  inquiry,  I  found  that  the  body 
of  Amazons  on  my  right  hand  were  Whigs,  and  those  on  my  left 
Tories  :  and  that  those  who  had  placed  themselves  in  the  middle 
boxes  were  a  neutral  party,  whose  faces  had  not  yet  declared 
themselves.  These  last,  however,  as  I  afterwards  found,  dimin- 
ished daily,  and  took  their  party  with  one  side  or  the  other ; 
insomuch  that  I  observed  in  several  of  them,  the  patches,  which 
were  before  dispersed  equally,  are  now  all  gone  over  to  the  Whig 
or  the  Tory  side  of  the  face.  The  censorious  say,  that  the  men 
whose  hearts  are  aimed  at,  are  very  often  the  occasions  that  one 
part  of  the  face  is  thus  dishonoured,  and  lies  under  a  kind  of  dis- 
grace, while  the  other  is  so  much  set  off  and  adorned  by  the 
owner;  and  that  the  patches  turn  to  the  right  or  to  the  left, 
according  to  the  principles  of  the  man  who  is  most  in  favour. 
But  whatever  may  be  the  motives  of  a  few  fantastical  coquettes, 
who  do  not  patch  for  the  public  good  so  much  as  for  their  own 
private  advantage,  it  is  certain,  that  there  are  several  women  of 
honour  who  patch  out  of  principle,  and  with  an  eye  to  the  in 

^  Whoever  recollects  vritli  wliat  violence  the  spirit  of  party  raged  in  the 
latter  end  of  Queen  Anne's  reign,  will  not  be  surprised  that  it  should 
infect  the  ladies,  or  show  itself  in  the  instances  so  pleasantly  indicated  in 
this  paper — C. 


No.  81.] 


SPECTATOR. 


227 


terest  of  their  country.  Nay,  I  am  informed  that  some  of 
them  adhere  so  steadfastly  to  their  party,  and  are  so  far  from 
sacrificing  their  zeal  for  the  public  to  their  passions  for  any  par- 
ticular person,  that  in  a  late  draught  of  marriage  articles  a  lady 
has  stipulated  with  her  husband,  that  whatever  his  opinions  are, 
she  shall  be  at  liberty  to  patch  on  which  side  she  pleases. 

I  must  here  take  notice,  that  Rosalinda,  a  famous  Whig 
partizan,  has  most  unfortunately  a  very  beautiful  mole  on  the 
Tory  part  of  her  forehead,  which  being  very  conspicuous,  has 
occasioned  many  mistakes,  and  given  an  handle  to  her  enemies 
to  misrepresent  her  face,  as  though  it  had  revolted  from  the  Whig 
interest.  But,  whatever  this  natural  patch  may  seem  to  in- 
sinuate, it  is  well  known  that  her  notions  of  government  are  still 
the  same.  This  unlucky  mole,  however,  has  misled  several  cox- 
combs ;  and  like  the  hanging  out  of  false  colours,  made  some  of 
them  converse  with  Rosalinda  in  what  they  thought  the  spirit  of 
her  party,  when  on  a  sudden  she  has  given  them  an  unexpected 
fire,  that  has  sunk  them  all  at  once.  If  Rosalinda  is  unfortunate 
in  her  mole,  Nigranilla  is  as  unhappy  in  a  pimple,  which  forces, 
her,  against  her  inclinations,  to  patch  on  the  Whig  side. 

I  am  told  that  many  virtuous  matrons,  who  formerly  have 
been  taught  to  believe  that  this  artificial  spotting  of  the  face  was 
unlawful,  are  now  reconciled  by  a  zeal  for  their  cause,  to  what 
they  could  not  be  prompted  by  a  concern  for  their  beauty.  This 
way  of  declaring  war  upon  one  another,  puts  me  in  mind  of  what 
is  reported  of  the  tygress,  that  several  spots  rise  in  her  skin 
when  she  is  angry ;  or,  as  Mr.  Cowley  has  imitated  the  verses 
that  stand  as  the  motto  of  this  paper, 

 She  swells  with  angry  pride, 

And  calls  forth  all  her  spots  on  ev'ry  side.' 

*  Davideis,  Book  iii.  v.  47. — L. 


228 


SPECTATOR. 


[N'O.  81 


When  I  was  in  the  theatre  the  time  above-mentioned,  I  had 
the  curiosity  to  count  the  patches  on  both  sides,  and  found  the 
Tory  patches  to  be  about  twenty  stronger  than  the  Whig ;  but  to 
make  amends  for  this  small  inequality,  I  the  next  morning  found 
the  whole  puppet- shew  filled  with  faces  spotted  after  the  Whig- 
gish  manner.  Whether  or  no  the  ladies  had  retreated  hither  in 
order  to  rally  their  forces,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  the  next  night  they 
came  in  so  great  a  body  to  the  opera,  that  they  out- numbered  the 
enemy. 

This  account  of  party-patches  will,  I  am  afraid,  appear  im- 
probable to  those  who  live  at  a  distance  from  the  fashionable 
world ;  but  as  it  is  a  distinction  of  a  very  singular  nature,  and 
what  perhaps  may  never  meet  with  a  parallel,  I  think  I  should 
not  have  discharged  the  office  of  a  faithful  Spectator,  had  I  not 
recorded  it. 

I  have,  in  former  papers,  endeavoured  to  expose  this  party- 
rage  in  women,  as  it  only  serves  to  aggravate  the  hatred  and 
animosities  that  reign  among  men,  and  in  a  great  measure  de- 
prives the  fair  sex  of  those  peculiar  charms  with  which  nature 
has  endowed  them. 

When  the  Romans  and  Sabines  were  at  war,  and  just  upon 
the  point  of  giving  battle,  the  women  who  were  allied  to  both  of 
them,  interposed  with  so  many  tears  and  entreaties,^  that  they 
prevented  the  mutual  slaughter  which  threatened  both  parties, 
and  united  them  together  in  a  firm  and  lasting  peace. 

I  would  recommend  this  noble  example  to  our  British  ladies, 
at  a  time  when  their  country  is  torn  with  so  many  unnatural 
divisions,  that  if  they  continue,  it  will  be  a  misfortune  to  be  born 
in  it.  The  Greeks  thought  it  so  improper  for  women  to  interest 
themselves  in  competitions  and  contentions,  that  for  this  reason, 

1  Livy,  L.  i.  c.  13;  and  finely  told  too,  in  Arnold's  first  chapter. — G. 


No.  81.] 


SPECTATOR. 


229 


among  others,  they  forbad  them,  under  pain  of  death,  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  Olympic  games,  notwithstanding  these  were  the  pub- 
lic diversions  of  all  Greece. 

As  our  English  women  excel  those  of  all  nations  in  beauty, 
they  should  endeavour  to  outshine  them  in  all  other  accomplish- 
ments proper  to  the  sex,  and  to  distinguish  themselves  as  tender 
mothers  and  tender  wives,  rather  than  as  furious  partizans. 
Female  virtues  are  of  a  domestic  turn.  The  family  is  the  proper 
province  for  private  women  to  shine  in.  If  they  must  be  shew- 
ing their  zeal  for  the  public,  let  it  not  be  against  those  who  are 
perhaps  of  the  same  family,  or  at  least  of  the  same  religion  or 
nation,  but  against  those  who  are  the  open,  professed,  undoubted 
enemies  of  their  faith,  liberty,  and  country.  When  the  Komans 
were  pressed  with  a  foreign  enemy,  the  ladies  voluntarily  contri- 
buted all  their  rings  and  jewels  to  assist  the  government  under 
the  public  exigence,^  which  appeared  so  laudable  an  action  in  the 
eyes  of  their  countrymen,  that  from  thenceforth  it  was  permitted 
by  a  law  to  pronounce  public  orations  at  the  funeral  of  a  woman 
in  praise  of  the  deceased  person,  which  till  that  time  was  peculiar 
to  men. 

Would  our  English  ladies,  instead  of  sticking  on  a  patch 
against  those  of  their  own  country,  shew  themselves  so  truly 
public-spirited  as  to  sacrifice  every  one  her  necklace  against  the 
common  enemy,  what  decrees  ought  not  to  be  made  in  favour  of 
them  ? 

Since  I  am  recollecting  upon  this  subject  such  passages  as 
occur  to  my  memory  out  of  ancient  authors,  I  cannot  omit  a  sen- 
tence in  the  celebrated  funeral  oration  of  Pericles,  which  he 
made  in  honour  of  those  brave  Athenians  that  were  slain  in  a 

^  This  was  repeated  throughout  Italy  in  the  revolution  of  1848  ;  and  at 
Venice,  those  who  had  no  jewels,  cut  off  their  hair,  and  sold  it  as  a  contri- 
bution to  the  public  cause. — G. 


230 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  83. 


fight  with  the  Lacedemonians.  After  having  addressed  himself 
to  the  several  ranks  and  orders  of  his  countrymen,  and  shewn 
them  how  they  should  behave  themselves  in  the  public  cause,  he 
turns  to  the  female  part  of  his  audience ;  ^  And  as  for  you  (says 
he)  I  shall  advise  you  in  very  few  words  :  aspire  only  to  those 
virtues  that  are  peculiar  to  your  sex ;  follow  your  natural  modes- 
ty, and  think  it  your  greatest  commendation  not  to  be  talked  of 
one  way  or  other.' — C. 


No.  83.    TUESDAY,  JUNE  5. 

—  Animum  pictura  pascit  inani. 

ViRG.  ^n.  1,  464. 

And  with  the  shadowy  picture  feeds  his  mind. 

When  the  weather  hinders  me  from  taking  my  diversions 
without  doors,  I  frequently  make  a  little  party  with  two  or  three 
select  friends,  to  visit  any  thing  curious  that  may  be  seen  under 
covert.    My  principal  entertainments  of  this  kind  are  pictures, 

^  Tlmcydides,  L.  ii.  c.  45.  It  might  perhaps  be  objected  by  a  large  part 
of  the  sex,  that  Pericles  addresses  his  admonition  altogether  to  widows — 
€i  Se  ju€  Set  KoiX  yvvaiKcias  ri  aper^y,  '6(rai  vvv  iu  xr^peta  earovrat,  /jLvrja^rji'ai,  &c. 
— *  If  I  am  to  say  any  thing  on  the  chief  excellence  of  women,  such  as 
those  who  will  now  be  in  widowhood,'  &c.  And  as  Addison  has  perhaps 
strained  the  text  a  little  in  favor  of  his  argument,  I  add  a  more  literal 
translation  of  the  whole  passage:  *It  is  a  great  glory  for  you  not  to 
fall  below  the  nature  which  you  ordinarily  have  already;  and  her's,  too, 
is  a  great  glory,  whose  name  is  little  talked  of  either  for  good  or  for 
evil.— G. 

ft  The  humour  of  this  paper  (as  of  all  those  which  turn  on  light,  or  triv- 
ial subjects)  is  inimitable :  but  what  is  most  to  be  admired,  is  the  moral 
use  he  always  makes  of  this  talent.  Hence  in  giving  a  loose  to  his  ^'Badi- 
nage," he,  every  where,  sustains  the  dignity  of  his  own  character.  You 
laugh,  perhaps,  with  other  writers  of  this  class,  but  you  love  and  approve 
Mr.  Addison. — H. 


No.  83.] 


SPECTATOR. 


231 


insomuch  that  when  I  have  found  the  weather  set  hi  to  be  very 
bad,  I  have  taken  a  whole  day's  journey  to  see  a  gallery  that  is 
furnished  by  the  hands  of  great  masters.  By  this  means,  when 
the  heavens  are  filled  with  clouds,  when  the  earth  swims  in  rain, 
and  all  nature  wears  a  lowering  countenance,  I  withdraw  myself 
from  these  uncomfortable  scenes  into  the  visionary  worlds  of  art ; 
where  I  meet  with  shining  landscapes,  gilded  triumphs,  beautiful 
faces,  and  all  those  other  objects  that  fill  the  mind  with  gay  ideas, 
and  disperse  that  gloominess  which  is  apt  to  hang  upon  it  in 
those  dark  disconsolate  seasons. 

I  was  some  weeks  ago  in  a  course  of  these  diversions ;  which 
had  taken  such  an  entire  possession  of  my  imagination,  that  they 
formed  in  it  a  short  morning's  dream,  which  I  shall  communicate 
to  my  reader,  rather  as  the  first  sketch  and  outlines  of  a  vision, 
than  as  a  finished  piece. 

I  dreamt  that  I  was  admitted  into  a  long  spacious  gallery, 
which  had  one  side  covered  with  pieces  of  all  the  famous  painters 
who  are  now  living,  and  the  other  with  the  works  of  the  greatest 
masters  that  are  dead. 

On  the  side  of  the  living,  I  saw  several  persons  busy  in  draw- 
ing, colouring,  and  designing  ;  on  the  side  of  the  dead  painters,  I 
could  not  discover  more  than  one  person  at  work,  who  was  ex- 
ceeding slow  in  his  motions,  and  wonderfully  nice  in  his  touches. 
I  was  resolved  to  examine  the  several  artists  that  stood  before 
me,  and  accordingly  applied  myself  to  the  side  of  the  living. 
The  first  I  observed  at  work  in  this  part  of  the  gallery  was 
Vanity,  with  his  hair  tied  behind  him  in  a  ribbon,  and  dressed 
like  a  Frenchman. 

All  the  faces  he  drew  were  very  remarkable  for  their  smiles, 
and  a  certain  smirking  air,which  he  bestowed  indifferently  on  every 
age  and  degree  of  either  sex.  The  ^o^^/oz^rs^a^^  appeared  even 
in  his  judges,  bishops,  and  privy-counsellors  :  in  a  word,  all  his 


232 


SPECTATOR. 


LNo.  83. 


men  were  petit  maitres^  and  all  his  women  coquettes.  The 
drapery  of  his  figures  was  extremely  well  suited  to  his  faces,  and 
was  made  up  of  all  the  glaring  colours  that  could  be  mixt  toge- 
ther ;  every  part  of  the  dress  was  in  a  flutter,  and  endeavoured  to 
distinguish  itself  above  the  rest. 

On  the  left  hand  of  Vanity  stood  a  laborious  workman,  who 
1  found  was  his  humble  admirer,  and  copied  after  him.  He  was 
dressed  like  a  German,  and  had  a  very  hard  name  that  sounded 
something  like  Stupidity. 

The  third  artist  that  I  looked  over  was  Fantasque,  dressed 
like  a  Venetian  scaramouch.  He  had  an  excellent  hand  at  Chi- 
maera,  and  dealt  very  much  in  distortions  and  grimaces.  He 
would  sometimes  afi'right  himself  with  the  phantoms  that  flowed 
from  his  pencil.^  In  short,  the  most  elaborate  of  his  pieces  was 
at  best  but  a  terrifying  dream  ;  and  one  could  say  nothing  more 
of  his  finest  figures,  than  that  they  were  agreeable  monsters. 

The  fourth  person  I  examined,  was  very  remarkable  for  his 
hasty  hand,  which  left  his  picture  so  unfinished,  that  the  beauty 
in  the  picture  (which  was  designed  to  continue  as  a  monument  of 
it*  to  posterity)  faded  sooner  than  in  the  person  after  whom  it 
was  drawn.  He  made  so  much  haste  to  dispatch  his  business, 
that  he  neither  gave  himself  time  to  clean  his  pencils,  nor  mix 
his  colours.    The  name  of  this  expeditious  workman  was  Avarice. 

Not  far  from  this  artist  I  saw  another  of  a  quite  difi'erent 
nature,  who  was  dressed  in  the  habit  of  a  Dutchman,  and  known 
by  the  name  of  Industry.  His  figures  were  wonderfully  labour- 
ed :  if  he  drew  the  portraiture  of  a  man,  he  did  not  omit  a  single 
hair  in  his  face ;  if  the  figure  of  a  ship,  there  was  not  a  rope  among 
tlie  tackle  that  escaped  him.  He  had  likewise  hung  a  great  part 
of  the  wall  with  night-pieces,  that  seemed  to  shew  themselves  by 

"  Better — that  arose.'' — II. 

b  Of  it — i.  e.  of  the  beauty  :  a  little  careless  and  inaccurate. — H. 


No.  83.] 


SPECTATOR. 


233 


the  candles  which  were  lighted  up  in  several  parts  of  them  ;  and 
were  so  inflamed  by  the  sunshine  which  accidentally  fell  upon 
them,  that  at  first  sight  I  could  scarce  forbear  crying  out,  Fire. 

The  five  foregoing  artists  were  the  most  considerable  on  this 
side  the  gallery ;  there  were  indeed  several  others  whom  I  had 
not  time  to  look  into.  One  of  them,  however,  I  could  not  forbear 
observing,  who  was  very  busy  in  retouching  the  finest  pieces, 
though  he  produced  no  originals  of  his  own.  His  pencil  aggra 
vated  every  feature  that  was  before  over-charged,  loaded  every 
defect,  and  poisoned  every  colour  it  touched.  Though  this  work- 
man did  so  much  mischief  on  this  side  of  the  living,  he  never 
turned  his  eye  towards  that  of  the  dead.    His  name  was  Envy. 

Having  taken  a  cursory  view  of  one  side  of  the  gallery,  I 
turned  myself  to  that  which  was  filled  by  the  works  of  those  great 
masters  that  were  dead ;  when  immediately  I  fancied  myself 
standing  before  a  multitude  of  spectators,  and  thousands  of  eyes 
looking  upon  me  at  once ;  for  all  before  me  appeared  so  like  men 
and  women,  that  I  almost  forgot  they  were  pictures.  Raphael's 
figures  stood  in  one  row,  Titian's  in  another,  Guido  Rheni's  in  a 
a  third.  One  part  of  the  wall  was  peopled  by  Hannibal  Carrache, 
another  by  Correggio,  and  another  by  Rubens.  To  be  short,  there 
was  not  a  great  master  among  the  dead  who  had  not  contributed 
to  the  embellishment  of  this  side  of  the  gallery.  The  persons 
that  owed  their  being  to  these  several  masters,  appeared  all  of 
them  to  be  real  and  alive,  and  differed  among  one  another  only  in 
the  variety  of  their  shapes,  complexions,  and  cloaths ;  so  that  they 
looked  like  difi*erent  nations  of  the  same  species. 

Observing  an  old  man  (who  was  the  same  person  I  before 
mentioned,  as  the  only  artist  that  was  at  work  on  this  side  of  the 
gallery)  creeping  up  and  down  from  one  picture  to  another,  and 
retouching  all  the  fine  pieces  that  stood  before  me^  I  could  not 
but  be  very  attentive  to  all  his  motions.    I  found  his  pencil  was 


234 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  83 


so  very  light,  that  it  worked  imperceptibly,  and  after  a  thousand 
touches,  scarce  produced  any  visible  effect  in  the  picture  on  which 
he  was  employed.  However,  as  he  busied  himself  incessantly, 
and  repeated  touch  after  touch  without  rest  or  intermission,  he 
wore  off  insensibly  every  little  disagreeable  gloss  that  hung  upon 
a  figure  :  he  also  added  such  a  beautiful  brown  to  the  shades,  and 
mellowness  to  the  colours,  that  he  made  every  picture  appear 
more  perfect  than  when  it  came  fresh  from  the  master's  pencil. 
I  could  not  forbear  looking  upon  the  face  of  this  ancient  workman, 
and  immediately,  by  the  long  lock  of  hair  upon  his  forehead,  dis- 
covered him  to  be  Time.^ 

Whether  it  were  because  the  thread  of  my  dream  was  at  an 
end,  I  cannot  tell,  but  upon  my  taking  a  survey  of  this  imaginary 
old  man,  my  sleep  left  me.  C. 

^  The  received  opinion  that  time  improves  the  colouring  of  pictures  is 
strongly  controverted  by  Hogarth.  See  his  Analysis  of  Beauty,  4to.  1753, 
p.  118,  note.— C. 

Cole,  a  still  higher  authority,  accepts  the  common  opinion,  and  gives  a 
reason  for  it :  "Many  old  pictures  have  pleasing  qualities  which  did  not 
exist  when  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  artist.  "We  see  in  them  a  mellow^ness 
and  lustre,  a  kind  of  inward  light,  Avhich  is  the  effect  of  the  touchings  of 
time  and  not  of  the  pencil,  that  gave  them  their  new  being  on  the  canvas. 
The  cause  of  this  highly  valued  quality  appears  to  me  extremely  simple. 
It  arises,  evidentl}',  from  an  artificial  atmosphere,  formed  by  particles  of 
opaque  matter  gradually  deposited  upon  the  surface.  This  medium  through 
which  we  see  the  picture  is  dark  and  negative,  and  the  light  that  breaks 
through  it  has  great  value  from  the  contrast."  V.  Noble's  Life  of  Cole, 
pp.  116,  117.— G. 


No.  85] 


SPECTATOR. 


235 


NO.  85.    THURSDAY,  JUNE  7. 

Interdum  speciosa  locis,  morataque  recte 
Fabula  nullius  Veneris,  sine  pondere  et  arte, 
Valdius  oblectat  populum,  meliusque  moratur, 
Quam  versus  inopes  rerum,  nugjeque  canoroe. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet.  v.  319. 
Sonietimes  in  rough  and  undigested  plays, 
We  meet  with  such  a  lucky  character, 
As  being  hunnour'd  right,  and  well  pursu'd, 
Succeeds  much  better  than  the  shallow  verse 
And  chiming  trifles  of  more  studious  pens. 

Roscommon. 

It  is  the  custom  of  the  Mahometans,  if  they  see  any  printed 
or  written  paper  upon  the  ground,  to  take  it  up,  and  lay  it  aside 
carefully,  as  not  knowing  but  it  may  contain  some  piece  of  their 
Alcoran.  ^  I  must  confess  I  have  so  much  of  the  Mussulman  in 
me,  that  I  cannot  forbear  looking  into  every  printed  paper  which 
comes  in  my  way,  under  whatsoever  despicable  circumstances  it 
may  appear  :  for  as  no  mortal  author,  ^  in  the  ordinary  fate  and 
vicissitude  of  things,  knows  to  what  use  his  works  may,  some 
time  or  other,  be  applied,  a  man  may  often  meet  with  very  cele- 
brated names  in  a  paper  of  tobacco.  ^    I  have  lighted  my  pipe 

1  Or  more  correctly — the  name  of  God — a  trait  which  has  been  used 
by  Voltaire  to  prove  that  no  true  Mussulman  could  have  ordered  the 
library  of  Alexandria  to  be  burnt. — G. 

2  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  two  days  ago  I  was  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, when  an  English  gentleman  came  to  me,  and  told  me  that  he  had 
lately  sent  to  a  grocer's  shop  for  a  pound  of  raisins,  which  he  received 
wrapt  up  in  a  paper  that  he  showed  me.  How  would  you  have  turned 
pale  at  the  sight !  It  was  a  leaf  of  your  history,  and  the  very  character 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  which  you  had  labored  so  finely,  little  thinking  it 
would  so  soon  come  to  so  disgraceful  an  end."  V.  an  humorous  letter  of 
Hume  to  Robertson,  in  Stewart's  Account  of  the  Life  and  "Writings  of  Dr. 
Robertson;  Stewart's  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  108.    Boston  ed.,  1829. — G. 

^  No  mortal  author.  The  epithet  "mor^rt^,"as  applied,  in  this  place, 
to  aw^Aor,"  is  very  expressive.  But  the  humour  of  the  expression  de- 
pends on  knowing  that,  no  mortal  man  is  used,  in  familiar  discourse,  simpl}^ 
for  "no  man." — H. 


236 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  85. 


more  than  once  with  the  writings  of  a  prelate  ;  and  know  a 
friend  of  mine,  who,  for  these  several  years,  has  converted  the 
essays  of  a  man  of  quality  into  a  kind  of  fringe  for  his  candle- 
sticks. I  remember,  in  particular,  after  having  read  over  a  poem 
of  an  eminent  author  on  a  victory,  I  met  with  several  fragments 
of  it  upon  the  next  rejoicing  day,  which  had  been  employed  in 
squibs  and  crackers,  and  by  that  means  celebrated  its  subject  in 
a  double  capacity.  I  once  met  with  a  page  of  Mr.  Baxter  under 
a  Christmas  pie.  Whether  or  no  the  pastry  cook  had  made  use 
of  it  through  chance  or  waggery,  for  the  defence  of  that  super- 
stitious viand,  I  know  not  ;  but  upon  the  perusal  of  it,  I  conceived 
so  good  an  idea  of  the  author's  piety,  that  I  bought  the  whole 
book.  ^  I  have  often  profited  by  these  accidental  readings,  and 
have  sometimes  found  very  curious  pieces,  that  are  either  out  of 
print,  or  not  to  be  met  with  in  the  shops  of  our  London  book- 
sellers. For  this  reason,  when  my  friends  take  a  survey  of  my 
library,  they  are  very  much  surprised  to  find,  upon  the  shelf  of 
folios,  two  long  bandboxes  standing  upright  among  my  books, 
till  I  let  them  see  that  they  are  both  of  them  lined  with  deep 
erudition  and  abstruse  literature.  I  might  likewise  mention  a 
paper-kite,  from  which  I  have  received  great  improvement ;  and 
a  hat-case,  which  I  would  not  exchange  for  all  the  beavers  in 
Great  Britain.  This  my  inquisitive  temper,  or  rather  imperti- 
nent humour  of  prying  into  all  sorts  of  writing,  with  my  natural 
aversion  to  loquacity,  gives  me  a  good  deal  of  employment  when 
I  enter  any  house  in  the  country  ;  for  I  cannot  for  my  heart 
leave  a  room  before  I  have  thoroughly  studied  the  walls  of  it, 
and  examined  the  several  printed  papers  which  are  usually  pasted 

^  The  Puritans  scrupled  eating  what  are  called  Christmas  pyes.  Hence 
the  raillery.  But  that  this  raillery  might  not  be  construed  to  extend 
further  than  the  subject  of  it,  he  takes  care,  at  the  same  time,  to  speak 
well  of  the  author's  [Mr.  Baxter's]  general  worth  and  piety.  So  wise  was 
this  excellent  writer,  even  in  his  mirth  I — IL 


No.  85.] 


SPECTATOR. 


237 


upon  them.  The  last  piece  that  I  met  with  upon  this  occasion, 
gave  me  a  most  exquisite  pleasure.  My  reader  will  think  I  am 
not  serious,  when  I  acquaint  him,  that  the  piece  I  am  going  to 
speak  of  was  the  old  ballad  of  the  Two  Children  in  the  Wood, 
which  is  one  of  the  darling  songs  of  the  common  people,  and  has 
been  the  delight  of  most  Englishmen  in  some  part  of  their 
age.^ 

This  song  is  a  plain  simple  copy  of  nature,  destitute  of  all 
the  helps  and  ornaments  of  art.  The  tale  of  it  is  a  pretty  tragi- 
cal story,  and  pleases  for  no  other  reason  but  because  it  is  a  copy 
of  nature.  There  is  even  a  despicable  simplicity  in  the  verse  ; 
and  yet,  because  the  sentiments  appear  genuine  and  unaffected, 
they  are  able  to  move  the  mind  of  the  most  polite  reader  with 
inward  meltings  of  humanity  and  compassion.  The  incidents 
grow  out  of  the  subject,  and  are  such  as  are  the  most  proper  to 
excite  pity ;  for  which  reason  the  whole  narration  has  something 
in  it  very  moving,  notwithstanding  the  author  of  it  (whoever  he 
was)  has  delivered  it  in  such  an  abject  phrase  and  poorness 
of  expression,  that  the  quoting  any  part  of  it  would  look  like 
a  design  of  turning  it  into  ridicule.  But  though  the  language  is 
mean,  the  thoughts,  as  I  have  before  said,  from  one  end  to  the 
other  are  natural,  and  therefore  cannot  fail  to  please  those  who 
are  not  judges  of  language,  or  those  who,  notwithstanding  they 
are  judges  of  language,  have  a  true  and  unprejudiced  taste  of 
nature.  The  condition,  speech,  and  behaviour,  of  the  dying 
parents,  with  the  age,  innocence,  and  distress  of  the  children,  are 
set  forth  in  such  tender  circumstances,  that  it  is  impossible  for  a 
reader  of  common  humanity  not  to  be  affected  with  them.  As 
for  the  circumstance  of  the  Robin-red-breast,  it  is  indeed  a  little 
poetical  ornament ;  and  to  shew  the  genius  of  the  author  amidst 

^  V.  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry,  v.  3,  B.  ii.  No. 
18.— G. 


238 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  85. 


all  his  simplicity,  it  is  just  the  same  kind  of  fiction  which  one  of 
the  greatest  of  the  Latin  poets  has  made  use  of  upon  a  parallel 
occasion ;  I  mean  that  passage  in  Horace,  where  he  describes 
himself  when  he  was  a  child,  fallen  asleep  in  a  desert  wood,  and 
covered  with  leaves  by  the  turtles  that  took  pity  on  him.' 

Me  fabulosse  Vulture  in  Appulo, 
Altricis  extra  limen  Apuliae, 
Ludo  fatigatumque  somno 

Fronde  nova  puemm  palumbes 
Texere  

HoR.  1.  iii.  Od.  4. 

In  lofty  Vulture's  rising  grounds, 
Without  my  nurse  Apulia's  bounds, 
When  young  and  tir'd  with  sport  and  play, 
And  bound  with  pleasing  sleep  I  lay, 
Doves  cover'd  me  with  myrtle  boughs. 

Creech. 

I  have  heard  that  the  late  Lord  Dorset,  who  had  the  greatest 
wit  tempered  with  the  greatest  candour,  and  was  one  of  the  finest 
critics,  as  well  as  the  best  poets,  of  his  age,  had  a  numerous  col- 
lection of  old  English  ballads,  and  took  a  particular  pleasure  in 
the  reading  of  them.    I  can  afiirm  the  same  of  Mr.  Dryden  ;  and 

1  No  burial  this  pretty  pair 
Of  any  man  receives, 
Till  Robin-red-breast  piously 
Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 

Ut.  sup.  V.  125,  &c. 

A  stanza  which  Gray  probably  had  in  his  mind  Avhen  he  wrote  the  exqui- 
site lines  which  in  a  moment  of  unpardonable  hypercriticism,  he  rejected 
from  his  elegy. 

'  There  scattered  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen  are  showers  of  violets  found: 
The  Eed-breast  loves  to  build  and  warble  near, 

And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground.' 

And  more  directly  still,  Collins,  in  his  'Dirge  in  Cymbeline*: 
'  The  Eed-breast  oft,  at  evening  hours, 

Shall  kindly  lend  liis  little  aid, 
With  hoar\'-  moss  and  gathered  floAvers, 
To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid.'— G. 


No.  86.] 


SPECTATOR. 


239 


know  several  of  the  most  refined  writers  of  our  present  age  who 
are  of  the  same  humour. 

I  might  likewise  refer  my  reader  to  Moliere's  thoughts  on 
this  subject,  as  he  has  expressed  them  in  the  character  of  the 
Misanthrope ;  ^  but  those  only  who  are  endowed  with  a  true  great- 
ness of  soul  and  genius,  can  divest  themselves  of  the  little  images 
of  ridicule,  and  admire  nature  in  her  simplicity  and  nakedness. 
As  for  the  little  conceited  wits  of  the  age,  who  can  only  shew 
their  judgment  by  finding  fault,  they  cannot  be  supposed  to  ad- 
mire these  productions  which  have  nothing  to  recommend  them 
but  the  beauties  of  nature,  when  they  do  not  know  how  to  relish 
even  those  compositions  that,  with  all  the  beauties  of  nature 
have  also  the  additional  advantages  of  art.^  L. 


No.  86.    FRIDAY,  JUNE  8. 

Heu  quam  difficile  est  crimen  non  prodere  vultu! 

Ovid.  Met.  xi.  447. 
How  in  the  Iooks  does  conscious  guilt  appear ! 

Addison. 

There  are  several  arts  which  all  men  are  in  some  measure 
masters  of,  without  having  been  at  the  pains  of  learning  them. 
Every  one  that  speaks  or  reasons,  is  a  grammarian  and  a  logician, 
though  he  may  be  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  rules  of  gram- 
mar or  logic,  as  they  are  delivered  in  books  and  systems.  In 
the  same  manner,  every  one  is  in  some  degree  a  master  of  that 

1  'Le  mechant  gout  du  si6cle  en  cela  me  fait  peur ; 

Nos  peres  tout  grossiers,  Tavaient  beaucoup  meilleurs ; 
Et  je  prise  bien  moins  tout  ce  que  Ton  admire, 
Qu'  une  vieille  chanson  que  je  m'cn  vais  vous  dire.* 

Mis.  Acte  1.  sc.  2.— G. 
3  V.  Introduction— Remarks  on  Addison's  signature   in  the  SpeC' 
tator. — G. 


240 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  86. 


art  which  is  generally  distinguished  by  the  name  of  physiog- 
nomy ;  and  naturally  forms  to  himself  the  character  or  fortune  of 
a  stranger,*"  from  the  features  and  lineaments  of  his  face.  We  are 
^  no  sooner  presented  to  any  one  we  never  saw  before,  but  we  are 
immediately  struck  with  the  idea  of  a  proud,  a  reserved,  an  affable, 
or  a  good-natured  man ;  and  upon  our  first  going  into  a  company 
of  strangers,  our  benevolence  or  aversion,  awe  or  contempt,  rises 
naturally  towards  several  particular  persons,  before  we  have 
heard  them  speak  a  single  word,  or  so  much  as  know  who  they 
are. 

Every  passion  gives  a  particular  cast  to  the  countenance,  and 
is  apt  to  discover  itself  in  some  feature  or  other.  I  have  seen  an 
eye  curse  for  half  an  hour  together,  and  an  eye-brow  call  a  man 
scoundrel.  Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  lovers  to  com- 
plain, resent,  languish,  despair,  and  die,  in  dumb  show.  For  my 
own  part,  I  am  so  apt  to  frame  a  notion  of  every  man's  humour 
or  circumstances  by  his  looks,  that  I  have  sometimes  employed 
myself  from  Charing-Cross  to  the  Eoyal-Exchange  in  drawing 
the  characters  of  those  who  have  passed  by  me.  When  I  see  a 
man  with  a  sour  rivelled  face,  I  cannot  forbear  pitying  his  wife ; 
and  when  I  meet  with  an  open  ingenuous  countenance,  think  ^  on 
the  happiness  of  his  friends,  his  family,  and  relations. 

I  cannot  recollect  the  author  of  a  famous  saying  to  a  stranger 
who  stood  silent  in  his  company,  '  Speak,  that  I  may  see  thee.'  ' 
But,  with  submission,  I  think  we  may  be  better  known  by  our 
looks  than  by  our  words,  and  that  a  man's  speech  is  much  more 

1  Socrates — Loquere  ut  te  videani.  Socratis  vox  ad  adolescentem :  Apiil. 
Flor.  1.  pr.— C. 


A  man  cannot  be  said  to  '\form  to  himself  the  character  or  fortune" 
of  another,  but  an  idea  of  the  character  or  fortune.  He  says  below,  more 
properly,    to  frame  a  notion  of"  ttc. — H. 

^  Think.  It  should  either  be,  "  thinking''  in  reference  to  "  cannot  for- 
heary'  in  the  former  part  of  this  sentence,  or  else,    I  thinks — H. 


No.  86.] 


SPECTATOR. 


241 


easily  disguised  than  his  countenance.  ^  In  this  case,  however, 
I  think  the  air  of  the  whole  face  is  much  more  expressive  than 
the  lines  of  it :  the  truth  of  it  is,  the  air  is  generally  nothing  else 
but  the  inward  disposition  of  the  mind  made  visible. 

Those  who  have  established  physiognomy  into  an  art,  and 
laid  down  rules  of  judging  men's  tempers  by  their  faces,  have 
regarded  the  features  much  more  than  the  air.  Martial  has  a 
pretty  epigram  on  this  subject. 

Crine  ruber,  niger  ore,  brevis  pede,  liimiiie  laesus; 
Rem  rnagnam  prtestas,  Zoile,  si  bonus  es. 

Ep.  liv.  12. 

Thy  beard  and  head  are  of  a  different  die  ; 
Short  of  one  foot,  distorted  in  an  eye  : 
With  all  these  tokens  of  a  knave  compleat 
Should'st  thou  be  honest,  thou'rt  a  dev'lish  cheat. 

I  have  seen  a  very  ingenious  author  on  this  subject,  who 
founds  his  speculations  on  the  supposition,  that  as  a  man  hath  in 
the  mould  of  his  face  a  remote  likeness  to  that  of  an  ox,  a  sheep, 
a  lion,  an  hog,  or  any  other  creature,  he  hath  the  same  resem- 
blance in  the  frame  of  his  mind,  and  is  subject  to  those  passions 
which  are  predominant  in  the  creature  that  appears  in  his  coun- 
tenance. Accordingly  he  gives  the  prints  of  several  faces  that 
are  of  a  different  mould,  and  by  a  little  overcharging  the  like- 
ness, discovers  the  figures  of  these  several  kinds  of  brutal  faces 
in  human  features.  ^    I  remember  in  the  life  of  the  famous  Prince 

1  'The  true  use  of  speech  is  not  so  much  to  express  our  wants  as  to 
conceal  them.'  Goldsmith's  Bee,  No.  3.  (Works,  vol.  i.  p.  51,  Putnam's  ed.) 
The  most  recent  form  in  which  I  remember  to  have  seen  this  thought,  is 
in  one  of  the  numberless  witticisms  attributed  to  Talleyrand. — G. 

-  J.  B.  Delia  Porta,  born  at  Naples  1540,  died  1615:  founder  of  the 
Academy  of  the  Secret! :  discoverer  of  the  camera  obscura  ;  author  of  va- 
rious scientific  works,  besides  fourteen  comedies,  two  tragedies,  and  a  tragi 
comedy.  The  work  here  referred  to,  was  published  in  1586,  under  the 
title  of  De  humana  physiognomia. — G. 
s-T.   v.— 11 


242 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  O  K  . 


[No.  80 


of  Conde,  the  writer  observes,  the  face  of  that  prince  was  like  the 
face  of  an  eagle,  and  that  the  prince  was  very  well  pleased  to  be 
told  so.  In  this  case,  therefore,  we  may  be  sure,  that  he  had  in 
his  mind  some  general  implicit  notion  of  this  art  of  physiognomy 
which  I  have  just  now  mentioned ;  and  that  when  his  courtiers 
told  him  his  face  was  made  like  an  eagle's,  he  understood  them 
in  the  same  manner  as  if  they  had  told  him,  there  was  something 
in  his  looks  which  shewed  him  to  be  strong,  active,  piercing,  and 
of  a  royal  descent.  Whether  or  no  the  different  motions  of  the 
animal  spirits  in  different  passions,  may  have  any  effect  on  the 
mould  of  the  face  when  the  lineaments  are  pliable  and  tender,  or 
whether  the  same  kind  of  souls  require  the  same  kind  of  habita- 
tions, I  shall  leave  to  the  consideration  of  the  curious.  In  the 
mean  time  I  think  nothing  can  be  more  glorious  than  for  a  man 
to  give  the  lie  to  his  face,  and  to  be  an  honest,  just,  good-natured 
man,  in  spite  of  all  those  marks  and  signatures  which  nature 
seems  to  have  set  upon  him  for  the  contrary.  This  very  often 
happens  among  those,  who,  instead  of  being  exasperated  by  their 
own  looks,  or  envying  the  looks  of  others,  apply  themselves  en- 
tirely to  the  cultivating  of  their  minds,  and  getting  those  beau- 
ties which  are  more  lasting,  and  more  ornamental.  I  have  seen 
many  an  amiable  piece  of  deformity :  and  have  observed  a  cer- 
tain chearfulness  in  as  bad  a  system  of  features  as  ever  was 
clapped  together,  which  hath  appeared  more  lovely  than  all  the 
blooming  charms  of  an  insolent  beauty.  There  is  a  double  praise 
due  to  virtue,  when  it  is  lodged  in  a  body  that  seems  to  have 
been  prepared  for  the  reception  of  vice  ;  in  many  such  cases  the 
soul  and  the  body  do  not  seem  to  be  fellows. 

Socrates  was  an  extraordinary  instance  of  this  nature.  There 
chanced  to  be  a  great  physiognomist  in  his  time  at  Athens,  who 
had  made  strange  discoveries  of  men's  tempers  and  inclinations 
by  their  outward  appearances.     Socrates'  disciples,  that  they 


No.  86.] 


SPECTATOR. 


243 


might  put  this  artist  to  the  trial,  carried  hira  to  their  master, 
whom  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  did  not  know  he  was  then  in 
company  with  him. "  After  a  short  examination  of  his  face,  the 
physiognomist  pronounced  him  the  most  lewd,  libidinous,  drunken 
old  fellow,  that  he  had  ever  met  with  in  his  whole  life.  Upon 
which  the  disciples  all  burst  out  a  laughing,  as  thinking  they  had 
detected  the  falsehood  and  vanity  of  his  art.  But  Socrates  told 
them,  that  the  principles  of  his  art  might  be  very  true,  notwith- 
standing his  present  mistake  :  for  that  he  himself  was  naturally 
inclined  to  those  particular  vices  which  the  physiognomist  had 
discovered  in  his  countenance,  but  that  he  had  conquered  the 
strong  dispositions  he  was  born  with  by  the  dictates  of  philoso- 
phy. ^ 

We  are,  indeed,  told  by  an  ancient  author,  ^  that  Socrates  ver}^ 
much  resembled  Silenus  in  his  face  ;  which  we  find  to  have  been 
very  rightly  observed  from  the  statues  and  busts  of  both  that 
are  still  extant ;  as  well  as  on  several  antique  seals  and  precious 
stones,  which  are  frequently  enough  to  be  met  with  in  the  cabi- 
nets of  the  curious.  But,  however  observations  of  this  nature 
may  sometimes  hold,  a  wise  man  should  be  particularly  cautious 
how  he  gives  credit  to  a  man's  outward  appearance.  It  is  an 
irreparable  injustice  we  are  guilty  of  towards  one  another,  when 
we  are  prejudiced  by  the  looks  and  features  of  those  whom  we  do 
not  know.  How  often  do  we  conceive  hatred  against  a  person 
of  worth  ;  or  fancy  a  man  to  be  proud  and  ill-natured  by  his  as- 

^  Cum  multa  in  conventu  vitia  coliegisset  in  eum  Zopyrus,  qui  se  natu- 
lam  cujuj^que  ex  forma  prospicere  profitebatur,  derisus  est  a  caeteris,  qui 
ilia  in  Socrate  vitia  non  agnoscerent :  ab  illo  autem  Socrate  sublevatus, 
cnm  ilia  sibi  signa,  sed  ratione,  a  se  dejecta  diceret.  Cicero  Tuscul.  L. 
iv.  c.  37.— G. 

2  V.  Plato.    Symp.  c.  32— and  Xen.  Symp.  c.  5.— G. 

»  Better,  "  and  did  not  know  to  he  then  in  company  with  him*^  as  refer 
ring  to    whorn.'^ — H. 


244 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  89. 


pect^  whom  we  think  we  cannot  esteem  too  much  when  we  are  ac- 
quainted with  his  real  character  ?  Dr.  Moore,  in  his  admira- 
ble* System  of  Ethics,  reckons  this  particular  inclination  to 
take  a  prejudice  against  a  man  for  his  looks,  among  the  smaller 
vices  in  morality,  and,  if  I  remember,  gives  it  the  name  of  a 
Prosopolepsia.^  L. 


No.  89.    TUESDAY,  JUNE  12. 

 Petite  bine  juvenesque  senesque 

Finem  animo  certura,  miserisque  viatica  canis. 
Cras  hoc  fiet.    Idem  eras  fiet.    Quid  ?  quasi  magnum 
Nempe  diem  donas;  sed  cum  lux  altera  venit, 
Jam  cras  hesternura  consumpsimus  ;  ecce  aliud  cras 
Egerit  hos  annos,  et  semper  paulura  erit  ultra. 
Nam  quamvis  prope  te,  quamvis  temone  sub  uno 
Vertentem  sese  frustra  sectabere  canthum. 

Pers.    Sat.  V.  64 

Pers.    From  thee  both  old  and  young,  with  profit  learn 
The  bounds  of  good  and  evil  to  discern. 

Corn.   Unhappy  he  who  does  this  work  adjourn, 
And  to  to-morrow  would  the  search  delay ; 
His  lazy  morrow  will  be  like  to-day. 

PpiRS,    But  is  one  day  of  ease  too  much  to  borrow  ? 

Corn.    Yes,  sure :  for  yesterday  was  once  to-morrow 
That  yesterday  is  gone,  and  nothing  gained  ; 
And  all  thy  fruitless  days  will  thus  be  drained : 
For  thou  hast  more  to-morrows  yet  to  ask, 
And  wilt  be  ever  to  begin  thy  task ; 
"Who,  like  the  hindmost  chariot  wheels  are  curst, 
Still  to  be  near,  but  ne'er  to  reach  the  first. 

Dryden. 

As  my  correspondents  upon  the  subject  of  love  are  very  nu- 
merous, it  is  my  design,  if  possible,  to  range  them  under  several 

1  A  Greek  word  used  in  the  N.  T.  Rom.  ii.  11,  and  Eph.  vi.  9,  where 
it  is  said  that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons.  Here  it  signifies  a  preju- 
dice against  a  person  formed  from  his  countenance,  etc.,  too  hastily.— 0. 


ft  Rightly  so  called,  though  now  much  neglected  and  almost  forgot- 
ten.—H. 


Ko.  89.] 


SPECTATOR. 


245 


heads,  and  address  myself  to  them  at  different  times.  The  first 
branch  of  them,  to  whose  service  I  shall  dedicate  this  paper,  are 
those  that  have  to  do  with  women  of  dilatory  tempers,  who  are 
for  spinning  out  the  time  of  courtship  to  an  immoderate  length, 
without  being  able  either  to  close  with  their  lovers,  or  to  dismiss 
them.  I  have  many  letters  by  me  filled  with  complaints  against 
this  sort  of  women.  In  one  of  them  no  less  a  man  than  a  brother 
of  the  coiff^  tells  me,  that  he  began  his  suit  Vicesimo  nono 
Caroli  Secuncli^  before  he  had  been  a  twelvemonth  at  the  Tem- 
ple ;  that  he  prosecuted  it  for  many  years  after  he  was  called  to 
the  bar ;  that  at  present  he  is  a  Serjeant  at  law  ;  and  notwith- 
standing he  hoped  that  matters  would  have  been  long  since 
brought  to  an  issue,  the  fair  one  still  demurs.  I  am  so  well 
pleased  with  this  gentleman's  phrase,  that  I  shall  distinguish 
this  sect  of  women  by  the  title  of  Demurrers.  I  find  by  another 
letter  from  one  that  calls  himself  Thyrsis,  that  his  mistress  has 
been  demurring  above  these  seven  years.  But  among  all  my 
plaintiffs  of  this  nature,  I  most  pity  the  unfortunate  Philander, 
a  man  of  a  constant  passion  and  plentiful  fortune,  who  sets  forth, 
that  the  timorous  and  irresolute  Sylvia  has  demurred  till  she  is 
past  child-bearing.  StrephoQ  appears  by  his  letter  to  be  a  very 
choleric  lover,  and  irrevocably  smitten  with  one  that  demurs  out 
of  self-interest.  He  tells  me  with  great  passion,  that  she  has 
bubbled  him  out  of  his  youth  ;  that  she  drilled  him  on  to  five  and 
fifty,  and  that  he  verily  believes  she  will  drop  him  in  his  old  age 
if  she  can  find  her  account  in  another.  I  shall  conclude  this 
narrative  with  a  letter  from  honest  Sam.  Hopewell,  a  very  pleas- 
ant fellow,  who  it  seems  has  at  last  married  a  demurrer ;  I  must 
only  premise,  that  Sam,  who  is  a  very  good  bottle  companion, 
has  been  the  diversion  of  his  friends,  upon  account  of  his  pas- 


L  6.,  a  sergeant*  at  law. — 0. 


246 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  89. 


sion,  ever  since  the  year  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  eighty- 
one. 

"  Deae.  Sir, 

"  You  know  very  well  my  passion  for  Mrs.  Martha,  and  what 
a  dance  she  has  led  me  :  she  took  me  out  at  the  age  of  two-and- 
twenty,  and  dodged  with  me  above  thirty  years.  I  have  loved 
her  till  she  has  grown  as  grey  as  a  cat,  and  am  with  much  ado 
become  the  master  of  her  person,  such  as  it  is  at  present.  She 
is,  however,  in  my  eye,  a  very  charming  old  woman.  We  often 
lament  that  we  did  not  marry  sooner,  but  she  has  nobody  to  blame 
for  it  but  herself.  You  know  very  well  that  she  would  never 
think  of  me  whilst  she  had  a  tooth  in  her  head.  I  have  put  the 
date  of  my  passion  {Anno  Amoris  trigesirno  primd)  instead  of  a 
posie,  on  my  wedding-ring.  I  expect  you  should  send  me  a  con- 
gratulatory letter  ;  or,  if  you  please,  an  epithalamium,  upon  this 
occasion. 

"  Mrs.  Martha's  and  your's  eternally, 

"  Sam.  Hopewell." 

In  order  to  banish  an  evil  out  of  the  world,  that  does  not  only 
produce  great  uneasiness  to  private  persons,  but  has  also  a  very 
bad  influence  on  the  public,  I  shall  endeavour  to  shew  the  folly 
of  demurring  from  two  or  three  reflections,  which  I  earnestly  re- 
commend to  the  thoughts  of  my  fair  readers. 

First  of  all  I  would  have  them  seriously  think  on  the  short- 
ness of  their  time.  Life  is  not  long  enough  for  a  coquette  to 
play  all  her  tricks  in.  A  timorous  woman  drops  into  her  grave 
before  she  has  done  deliberating.  Were  the  age  of  man  the  same 
that  it  was  before  the  flood,  a  lady  might  sacrifice  half  a  century 
to  a  scruple,  and  be  two  or  three  ages  in  demurriog.  Had  she 
nine  hundred  years  good,  she. might  hold  out  to  the  conversion  of 
the  Jews  before  she  thought  fit  to  be  prevailed  upon.    But,  alas  ! 


]S"a  89.] 


SPECTATOR. 


247 


she  ought  to  play  her  part  in  haste,  when  she  considers  that  she 
is  suddenly  to  quit  the  stage,  and  make  room  for  others. 

In  the  second  place,  I  would  desire  my  female  readers  to  con- 
sider, that  as  the  term  of  life  is  short,  that  of  beauty  is  much 
shorter.  The  finest  skin  wrinkles  in  a  few  years,  and  loses  the 
strength  of  its  colouring  so  soon,  that  we  have  scarce  time  to 
admire  it.  I  might  embellish  this  subject  with  roses  and  rain- 
bows, and  several  other  ingenious  conceits,  which  I  may  possibly 
reserve  for  another  opportunity. 

There  is  a  third  consideration  which  I  would  likewise  recom- 
mend to  a  demurrer,  and  that  is  the  great  danger  of  her  falling 
in  love  when  she  is  about  threescore,  if  she  cannot  satisfy  her 
doubts  and  scruples  before  that  time.  There  is  a  kind  of  latter 
spring,  that  sometimes  gets  into  the  blood  of  an  old  woman,  and 
turns  her  into  a  very  odd  sort  of  an  animal.  I  would  therefore 
have  the  demurrer  consider  what  a  strange  figure  she  will  make, 
if  she  chances  to  get  over  all  difficulties,  and  comes  to  a  final  re- 
solution, in  that  unseasonable  part  of  her  life. 

I  would  not,  however,  be  understood  by  any  thing  I  have  here 
said,  to  discourage  that  natural  modesty  in  the  sex,  which  renders 
a  retreat  from  the  first  approaches  of  a  lover  both  fashionable 
and  graceful :  all  that  I  intend,  is,  to  advise  them,  when  they  are 
prompted  by  reason  and  inclination,  to  demur  only  out  of  form, 
and  so  far  as  decency  requires.  A  virtuous  woman  should  reject 
the  first  off'er  of  marriage,  as  a  good  man  does  that  of  a  bishop- 
ric ;  but  I  would  advise  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  to  persist 
in  refusing  what  they  secretly  approve.  I  would  in  this  particu- 
lar propose  the  example  of  Eve  to  all  her  daughters,  as  Milton 
has  represented  her  in  the  following  passage,  which  I  cannot  for- 
bear transcribing  entire,  though  only  the  twelve  last  lines  are  to 
my  present  purpose. 


248 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  89 


The  rib  he  forind  and fasliion'd  with  his  hands; 
Under  his  forming  hands  a  creature  grew, 
Manlike,  but  difF'rent  sex,  so  lovely  fair, 
That  what  seem'd  fair  in  all  the  world,  seem'd  now 
Mean,  or  in  her  summ'd  up,  in  her  contain'd, 
And  in  her  looks,  which  from  that  time  infus*d 
Sweetness  into  my  heart  unfelt  before, 
And  into  all  things  from  her  air  inspir'd 
The  spirit  of  loye  and  amorous  delight. 

She  disappeared,  and  left  me  dark.    I  wak'd 
To  find  her,  or  for  e7er  to  deplore 
Her  loss,  and  other  pleasures  all  abjure  ; 
When  out  of  hope,  behold  her,  not  far  off, 
Such  as  I  saw  her  in  my  dream,  adorned 
With  what  all  earth  or  heaven  could  bestow 
To  make  her  amiable.    On  she  came. 
Led  by  her  heav'nly  Makei*,  though  unseen, 
And  guided  by  his  voice,  nor  uninform'd 
Of  nuptial  sanctity  and  marriage  rites; 
Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heav'n  in  her  eye. 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love. 
I  overjoy' d,  could  not  forbear  aloud: 

This  turn  hath  made  amends  ;  thou  hast  fulfilled 
Thy  words.  Creator,  bounteous  and  benign  I 
Giver  of  all  things  fair,  but  fairest  this 
Of  all  thy  gifts,  nor  enviest.    I  now  see 

Bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  myself  

She  heard  me  thus,  and  tho'  divinely  brought, 
Yet  innocence  and  virgin  modesty. 
Her  virtue  and  the  conscience  of  her  worth. 
That  would  be  woo'd,  and  not  unsought  be  won, 
Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  but  retired 
The  more  desirable  ;  or,  to  say  all, 
Nature  herself,  though  pure  of  sinful  thought, 
Wrought  in  her  so,  that  seeing  me  she  turn'd: 
I  followed  her:  She  what  was  honour  knew 
And  with  obsequious  majesty  approv'd 
My  pleaded  reason.    To  the  nuptial  bow*r 
I  led  her  blushing  like  the  morn   L, 


No.  90.] 


SPECTATOR. 


'249 


No.  90.    WEDNESDAY,  JUNE  13. 

 Magnus  sine  viribus  ignis 

Incassuna  furit  

ViKG.  Georg.  iii.  99.  i 
In  vain  lie  burns  like  hasty  stubble  fires. 

Dryden. 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  consideration  more  effectual  to 
extinguish  inordinate  desires  in  the  soul  of  man,  than  the  notions 
of  Plato  and  his  followers  upon  that  subject.  They  tell  us,  that 
every  passion  which  has  been  contracted  by  the  soul  during  her 
residence  in  the  body,  remains  with  her  in  a  separate  state  ;  and 
that  the  soul  in  the  body,  or  out  of  the  body,  differs  no  more  than 
the  man  does  from  himself  when  he  js  in  his  house,  or  in  open 
air.  When,  therefore,  the  obscene  passions  in  particular  have 
once  taken  root,  and  spread  themselves  in  the  soul,  they  cleave  to 
her  inseparably,  and  remain  in  her  for  ever  after  the  body  is  cast 
off  and  thrown  aside.  As  an  argument  to  confirm  this  their  doc- 
trine, they  observe,  that  a  lewd  youth,  who  goes  on  in  a  continued 
course  of  voluptuousness,  advances  by  degrees  into  a  libidinous 
old  man ;  and  that  the  passion  survives  in  the  mind  when  it  is 
altogether  dead  in  the  body  ;  nay,  that  the  desire  grows  more  vio- 
lent, and  (like  all  other  habits)  gathers  strength  by  age,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  has  no  power  of  executing  its  own  purposes. 
If,  say  they,  the  soul  is  the  most  subject  to  these  passions  at  a 
time  when  she  has  the  least  instigation  from  the  body,  we  may 
well  suppose  she  will  still  retain  them  when  she  is  entirely  divest- 
ed of  it.  The  very  substance  of  the  soul  is  festered  with  them  ; 
the  gangrene  is  gone  too  far  to  be  ever  cured  ;  the  inflammation 
will  rage  to  all  eternity. 

In  this,  therefore,  (say  the  Platonists)  consists  the  punish- 
ment of  a  voluptuous  man  after  death  :  he  is  tormented  with  de- 

VOL.    V. — 11* 


250 


SPECTATOR. 


[So.  90 


sires  which  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  gratify  solicited  by  a  pas- 
sion which  has  neither  objects  nor  organs  adapted  to  it  :  he  lives 
in  a  state  of  invincible  desire  and  impotence,  and  always  burns  in 
the  pursuit  of  what  he  always  despairs  to  possess.  It  is  for  this 
reason  (says  Plato)  that  the  souls  of  the  dead  appear  frequently 
in  coemiteries,  and  hover  about  the  places  where  their  bodies  are 
buried,  as  still  hankering  after  their  old  brutal  pleasures,  and  de- 
siring again  to  enter  the  body  that  gave  them  an  opportunity  of 
fulfilling  them. 

Some  of  our  most  eminent  divines  have  made  use  of  this  Pla- 
tonic notion,  so  far  as  it  regards  the  subsistence  of  our  passions 
after  death,  with  great  beauty  and  strength  of  reason.  Plato, 
indeed,  carries  his  thought  very  far,  when  he  grafts  upon  it  his 
opinion  of  ghosts  appearing  in  places  of  burial.  Though,  I  must 
confess,  if  one  did  believe  that  the  departed  souls  of  men  and 
women  wandered  up  and  down  these  lower  regions,  and  entertain- 
ed themselves  with  the  sight  of  their  species,  one  could  not  devise 
a  more  proper  hell  for  an  impure  spirit  than  that  which  Plato 
has  touched  upon. 

The  ancients  seem  to  have  drawn  such  a  state  of  torments  in 
the  description  of  Tantalus,  who  was  punished  with  the  rage  of  an 
eternal  thirst,  and  set  up' to  the  chin  in  water,  that  fled  from  his 
lips  whenever  he  attempted  to  drink  it. 

Virgil,  who  has  cast  the  whole  system  of  Platonic  philosophy, 
so  far  as  it  relates  to  the  soul  of  man,  into  beautiful  allegories,  in 
the  sixth  book  of  his  ^Eneid,  gives  us  the  punishment  of  a  volup- 
tuary after  death,  not  unlike  that  which  we  are  here  speaking  of 

 Lucent  p:enialibiis  altis 

Aurea  fulcra  toris,  epulaeque  ante  ora  paratse 
Regifico  luxu  ;  furiarum  maxima  juxta 
Accubat,  et  maiiibus  prohibet  contingere  mensas; 
Exurgitque  facera  attollens,  atque  intonat  ore. 


No.  90.] 


SPECTATOR. 


251 


They  lie  below  on  golden  beds  displayed 
And  genial  feasts  with  regal  pomp  are  made. 
The  queen  of  furies  by  their  side  is  set, 
And  snatches  from  their  mouths  th'  untasted  meat ; 
Which  if  they  touch,  her  hissing  snakes  slie  rears, 
Tossing  her  torch,  and  thund'ring  in  their  ears. 

Dryden. 

That  I  may  a  little  alleviate  the  severity  of  this  my  specula- 
tion (which  otherwise  may  lose  me  several  of  my  polite  readers)  I 
shall  translate  a  story  that  has  been  quoted  upon  another  occa- 
sion by  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  the  present  age,  as  I  find 
it  in  the  original.  The  reader  will  see  it  is  not  foreign  to  my 
present  subject,  and  I  dare  say  will  think  it  a  lively  representa- 
tion of  a  person  lying  under  the  torments  of  such  a  kind  of  tanta- 
lism  or  Platonic  hell,  as  that  which  we  have  now  under  consider- 
ation. Monsieur  Pontignan,  speaking  of  a  love-adventure  that 
happened  to  him  in  the  country,  gives  the  following  account 
of  it.^ 

"  When  I  was  in  the  country  last  summer,  I  was  often  in 
company  with  a  couple  of  charming  women,  who  had  all  the  wit 
and  beauty  one  could  desire  in  female  companions,  with  a  dash  of 
coquetry,  that  from  time  to  time  gave  me  a  great  many  agreeable 
torments.  I  was,  after  my  way,  in  love  with  both  of  them,  and 
had  such  frequent  opportunities  of  pleading  my  passion  to  them 
when  they  were  asunder,  that  I  had  reason  to  hope  for  particular 
favours  from  each  of  them.  As  I  was  walking  one  evening  in  my 
chamber  with  nothing  about  me  but  my  night-gown,  they  both 
came  into  my  room  and  told  me,  that  they  had  a  very  pleasant 
trick  to  put  upon  a  gentleman  that  was  in  the  same  house,  provi- 
ded I  would  bear  a  part  in  it.  Upon  this  they  told  me  such  a 
plausible  story,  that  I  laughed  at  their  contrivance,  and  agreed 
to  do  whatever  they  should  require  of  me.    They  immediately 

'  This  is  a  paraphrase  of  a  story  in  the  'Academie  Galante,' a  little 
book  printed  in  Paris  in  1682. — 


252 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  9C 


began  to  swaddle  me  up  in  my  night-gown  with  long  pieces  of 
linen,  which  they  folded  about  me  till  they  had  wrapt  me  in  above 
an  hundred  yards  of  swathe  :  my  arms  were  pressed  to  my  sides, 
and  my  legs  closed  together  by  so  many  wrappers  one  over 
another,  that  I  looked  like  an  Egyptian  mummy.  As  I  stood 
bolt  upright  upon  one  end  in  this  antique  figure,  one  of  the  ladies 
burst  out  a  laughing.  '  And  now,  Pontignan^  (says  she,)  we  intend 
to  perform  the  promise  that  we  find  you  have  extorted  from  each 
of  us.  You  have  often  asked  the  favour  of  us,  and  I  dare  say 
you  are  a  better  bred  cavalier  than  to  refuse  to  go  to  bed  to 
ladies  that  desire  it  of  you.'  After  having  stood  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, I  begged  them  to  uncase  me,  and  to  do  with  me  what  they 
pleased.  '  No,  no,  (say  they,)  we  like  you  very  well  as  you  are ;' 
and  upon  that  ordered  me  to  be  carried  to  one  of  their  houses, 
and  put  to  bed  in  all  my  swaddles.  The  room  was  lighted  up  on 
all  sides  ;  and  I  was  laid  very  decently  between  a  pair  of  sheets, 
with  my  head  (which  was,  indeed,  the  only  part  I  could  move) 
upon  a  very  high  pillow :  this  was  no  sooner  done,  but  my  t-wo 
female  friends  came  into  bed  to  me  in  their  finest  night-clothes. 
You  may  easily  guess  at  the  condition  of  a  man  who  saw  a  couple 
of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the  world  undrest  and  a  bed  with  him, 
without  being  able  to  stir  hand  or  foot.  I  begged  them  to  release 
me,  and  struggled  all  I  could  to  get  loose,  which  I  did  with  so 
much  violence,  that  about  mid-night  they  both  leaped  out  of  the 
bed,  crying  out  they  were  undone.  But  seeing  me  safe,  they  took 
their  posts  again,  and  renewed  their  raillery.  Finding  all  my 
prayers  and  endeavours  were  lost,  I  composed  myself  as  well  as 
I  could ;  and  told  them,  that  if  they  would  not  unbind  me,  I 
would  fall  asleep  between  them,  and  by  that  means  disgrace  them 
for  ever.  But,  alas  !  this  was  impossible  :  could  I  have  been 
disposed  to  it,  tihpy  would  have  prevented  me  by  several  little  ill- 
natured  caresses  and  endearments  which  they  bestowed  upon  me. 


No  92.] 


SPECTATOR. 


As  much  devoted  as  I  am  to  womankind,  I  would  not  pass  such 
another  night  to  be  master  of  the  whole  sex.  My  reader  will 
doubtless  be  curious  to  know  what  became  of  me  the  next  morn- 
ing :  why,  truly,  my  bed-  fellows  left  me  about  an  hour  before 
day,  and  told  me  if  I  would  be  good,  and  lie  still,  they  would 
send  somebody  to  take  me  up  as  soon  as  it  was  time  for  me 
to  rise.  Accordingly  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  an  old 
woman  came  to  unswathe  me.  I  bore  all  this  very  patiently,  being 
resolved  to  take  revenge  of  my  tormentors,  and  to  keep  no  mea- 
sures with  them  as  soon  as  I  was  at  liberty ;  but  upon  asking  my 
old  woman  what  was  become  of  the  two  ladies,  she  told  me  she 
believed  they  were  by  that  time  within  sight  of  Paris,  for  that 
they  went  in  a  coach  and  six  before  five-a-clock  in  the  morning." 

L. 


No.  92.    FRIDAY,  JUNE  15. 

 Convivse  prope  dissentire  videntnr, 

Poscentes  vario  multum  di versa  palato ; 

Quid  dem  ?  quid  non  dem  ?  

Hoe.  11  Ep.  61. 

IMITATED. 

 What  wou'd  you  have  mo  do, 

When  out  of  twenty  I  can  please  not  two  ? 
One  likes  the  pheasant's  wing,  and  one  the  leg; 
The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  egg ; 
Hard  task  to  hit  the  palate  of  such  guests. 

Pope. 

Looking  over  the  late  packet  of  letters  which  have  been  sent 
to  me,  I  found  the  following  one. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  Your  paper  is  a  part  of  my  tea  equipage ;  and  my  servant 
knows  my  humour  so  well,  that  calling  for  my  breakfast  this 


254 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  92. 


morning  (it  being  past  my  usual  hour)  she  answered  the  Specta 
TOR  was  not  yet  come  in ;  but  that  the  tea-kettle  boiled,  and  she 
expected  it  every  moment.  Having  thus  in  part  signified  to  you 
the  esteem  and  veneration  which  I  have  for  you,  I  must  put  you 
in  mind  of  the  catalogue  of  books  which  you  have  promised  to 
recommend  to  our  sex ;  for  I  have  deferred  furnishing  my  closet 
with  authors,  'till  I  receive  your  advice  in  this  particular,  being 
your  daily  disciple  and  humble  servant, 

"  Leonora."^ 

In  answer  to  my  fair  disciple,  whom  I  am  very  proud  of,  I 
must  acquaint  her,  and  the  rest  of  my  readers,  that  since  I  have 
called  out  for  help  in  my  catalogue  of  a  lady's  library,^  I  have 
received  many  letters  upon  that  head,  some  of  w^hich  I  shall  give 
an  account  of. 

In  the  first  class  I  shall  take  notice  of  those  w^hich  come  to 
me  from  eminent  booksellers,  who  every  one  of  them  mention 
with  respect  the  authors  they  have  printed,  and  consequently  have 
an  eye  to  their  own  advantage  more  than  to  that  of  the  ladies. 
One  tells  me,  that  he  thinks  it  absolutely  necessary  for  women  to 
have  true  notions  of  right  and  equity,  and  that  therefore  they  can- 
not peruse  a  better  book  than  Daltpn's  Country  Justice  :  another 
thinks  they  cannot  be  without  The  complete  Jockey.  A  third, 
observing  the  curiosity  and  desire  of  prying  into  secrets,  which  he 
tells  me  is  natural  to  the  fair  sex,  is  of  opinion  this  female  inclina- 
tion, if  well  directed,  might  turn  very  much  to  their  advantage, 
and  therefore  recommends  to  me  Mr.  Mede  upon  the  Revelations  " 
A  fourth  lays  it  down  as  an  unquestioned  truth,  that  a  lady  can- 
not be  thoroughly  accomplished  who  has  not  read  The  secret 

1  V.  No.  37-140-168  and  note.— C.         2  y.        3T_163  and  note.— C. 

a  This  gaiety  on  Mr.  Mede's  Book  maybe  forgiven  to  Mr.  Addison,  who 
was  not  likely  to  comprehend  the  subject,  or  the  merit  of  it,  when  so  many 
i  of  our  best  divines  did  not. — H. 


No.  92.] 


SFECTATOR. 


255 


Treaties  and  Negotiations  of  the  Marshal  D'Estrades.  Mr. 
Jacob  Tonson,  jun.  is  of  opinion,  that  Bayle's  Dictionary  might 
be  of  very  great  use  to  the  ladies,  in  order  to  make  them  general 
scholars.  Another,  whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  thinks  it 
highly  proper  that  every  woman  with  child  should  read  Mr. 
Wall's  History  of  Infant  Baptism  ;  as  another  is  very  importunate 
with  me  to  recommend  to  all  my  female  readers  The  Finishing 
Stroke :  being  a  Vindication  of  the  Patriarchal  Scheme,  &c. 

In  the  second  class  I  shall  mention  books  which  are  recom- 
mended by  husbands,  if  I  may  believe  the  writers  of  them. 
Whether  or  no  they  are  real  husbands  or  personated  ones  I  can- 
not tell,  but  the  books  they  recommend  are  as  follows.  A  Para- 
phrase on  the  History  of  Susanna.  Kules  to  keep  Lent.  The 
Christian's  Overthrow  prevented.  A  Dissuasive  from  the  Play- 
house. The  Virtues  of  Camphire,  with  Directions  to  make 
Camphire  Tea.  The  Pleasures  of  a  Country  Life.  The  Govern- 
ment of  the  Tongue.  A  letter  dated  from  Cheapside  desires  me 
that  I  would  advise  all  young  wives  to  make  themselves  mistresses 
of  Wingate's  Arithmetic,  and  concludes  with  a  postscript,  that  he 
hopes  I  will  not  forget  The  Countess  of  Kent's  Receipts. 

I  may  reckon  the  ladies  themselves  as  a  third  class  among 
these  my  correspondents  and  privy  counsellors.  In  a  letter  from 
one  of  them,  I  am  advised  to  place  Pharamond^  at  the  head  of 
my  catalogue,  and,  if  I  think  proper,  to  give  the  second  place  to 
Cassandra.^  Coquetilla  begs  me  not  to  think  of  nailing  women 
upon  their  knees  with  manuals  of  devotion,  nor  of  scorching  their 
faces  with  books  of  housewifery.  Florella  desires  to  know  if 
there  are  any  books  written  against  prudes,  and  entreats  me,  if 
there  are,  to  give  them  a  place  in  my  library.  Plays  of  all  sorts 
have  their  several  advocates  :  All  for  Love  is  mentioned  in  above 
fifteen  letters ;  Sophonisba,  or  Hannibal's  Overthrow,  in  a  dozen; 

1—2  Two  celebrated  romances,  written  by  M.  la  Calprenede". — C. 


256 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  92. 


the  Innocent  Adultery  is  likewise  highly  approved  of ;  Mithridates 
King  of  Pontus  has  many  friends  ;  Alexander  the  Great  and 
Aurenzebe  have  the  same  number  of  voices  :  but  Theodosius,  or 
the  Force  of  Love,  carries  it  from  all  the  rest. 

I  should,  in  the  last  place,  mention  such  books  as  have  been 
proposed  by  men  of  learning,  and  those  who  appear  competent 
judges  of  this  matter,  and  must  here  take  occasion  to  thank  A  B, 
whoever  it  is  that  conceals  himself  under  those  two  letters,  for  his 
advice  upon  this  subject :  but  as  I  find  the  work  I  have  under- 
taken to  be  very  difficult,  I  shall  defer  the  executing  of  it  till  I 
am  further  acquainted  with  the  thoughts  of  my  judicious  con- 
temporaries, and  have  time  to  examine  the  several  books  they 
offer  to  me ;  being  resolved,  in  an  affair  of  this  moment,  to  pro- 
ceed with  the  greatest  caution. 

In  the  meanwhile,  as  I  have  taken  the  ladies  under  my 
particular  care,  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  find  out  in 
the  best  authors,  ancient  and  modern,  such  passages  as  may  be 
for  their  use,  and  endeavour  to  accommodate  them  as  well 
as  I  can  to  their  taste ;  not  questioning  but  the  valuable  part  of 
the  sex  will  easily  pardon  me,  if  from  time  to  time  I  laugh 
at  those  little  vanities  and  follies  which  appear  in  the  behaviour 
of  some  of  them,  and  which  are  more  proper  for  ridicule  than  a 
serious  censure.  Most  books  being  calculated  for  male  readers, 
and  generally  written  with  an  eye  to  men  of  learning,  makes 
a  work  of  this  nature  the  more  necessary ;  besides,  I  am  the  more 
encouraged,  because  I  flatter  myself  that  I  see  the  sex  daily  im- 
proving by  these  my  speculations.  My  fair  readers  are  already 
deeper  scholars  than  the  beaus  :  I  could  name  some  of  them  who 
talk  much  better  than  several  gentlemen  that  make  a  figure 
at  Will's  ;  and  as  I  frequently  receive  letters  from  the  fine  ladies 
and  pretty  fellows,  I  cannot  but  observe,  that  the  former  are 
superior- to  the  others  not  only  in  the  sense  but  in  the  spelling. 


No.  93.J 


SPECTATOR. 


257 


This  cannot  but  haye  a  good  effect  upon  the  female  world,  and 
keep  them  from  being  charmed  by  those  empty  coxcombs  that 
have  hitherto  been  admired  among  the  women,  though  laughed  at 
among  the  men. 

I  am  credibly  informed  that  Tom  Tattle  passes  for  an  im- 
pertinent fellow,  that  Will.  Trippet  begins  to  be  smoked,  and 
that  Frank  Smoothly  himself  is  within  a  month  of  a  coxcomb, 
in  case  I  think  fit  to  continue  this  paper.  For  niy  part,  as  it  is 
my  business  in  some  measure  to  detect  such  as  would  lead  astray 
weak  minds  by  their  false  pretences  to  wit  and  judgment,  humour 
and  gallantry,  I  shall  not  fail  to  lend  the  best  lights  I  am  able 
to  the  fair  sex  for  the  continuation  of  these  discoveries.  L. 


No.  93.    SATURDAY,  JUNE  16. 

 Spatio  brevi 

Spem  longam  reseces:  dum  loquirrmr,  fugerit  invida 
jEtas :  carpe  diem,  quam  minimum  credula  postero. 

Hoe.  1  Od.  xi.  6. 

 Be  wise,  cut  off  long  cares 

From  thy  contracted  span. 
E'en  whilst  we  speak,  the  envious  time 

Doth  make  swift  haste  away: 
Then  seize  the  present,  use  thy  prime, 

Nor  trust  another  day. 

Ckeech. 

We  all  of  us  complain  of  the  -shortness  of  time,  saith  Seneca,^ 
and  yet  have  much  more  than  we  know  what  to  do  with.  ^  Our 
lives,  (says  he)  are  spent  either  in  doing  nothing  at  all,  or  in 
doing  nothing  to  the  purpose,  or  in  doing  nothing  that  we  ought 
to  do  :  we  are  always  complaining  our  days  are  few,  and  acting 
as  though  there  would  be  no  end  of  them.'    That  noble  philo 

*  De  brevitate  vitae  ad  Paulinum  lib.  passim. — C. 


253 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  92 


sopher  lias  described  our  inconsistency  with  ourselves  in  this 
particular,  by  all  those  various  turns  of  expression  and  thought 
which  are  peculiar  to  his  writings. 

I  often  consider  mankind  as  wholly  inconsistent  v/ith  itself 
in  a  point  that  bears  some  affinity  to  the  former.  Though  we 
seem  grieved  at  the  shortness  of  life  in  general,  we  are  wishing 
every  period  of  it  at  an  end.  The  minor  longs  to  be  at  age, 
then  to  be  a  man  of  business,  then  to  make  up  an  estate,  then  to 
arrive  at  honours,  then  to  retire.  Thus  although  the  whole  life 
is  allowed  by  every  one  to  be  short,  the  several  divisions  of  it 
appear  long  and  tedious.  We  are  for  lengthening  our  span  in 
general,  but  would  fain  contract  the  parts  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed. The  usurer  would  be  very  well  satisfied  to  have  all  the 
time  annihilated  that  lies  between  the  present  moment  and  next 
quarter-day.  The  politician  would  be  contented  to  lose  three 
years  in  his  life,  could  he  place  things  in  the  posture  which  he 
fancies  they  will  stand  in  after  such  a  revolution  of  time.  The 
lover  would  be  glad  to  strike  out  of  his  existence  all  the  moments 
that  are  to  pass  away  before  the  happy  meeting.  Thus,  as  fast 
as  our  time  runs,  we  should  be  very  glad  in  most  parts  of  our 
lives,  that  it  ran  much  faster  than  it  does.  Several  hours  of  the 
day  hang  upon  our  hands  ;  nay,  we  wish  away  whole  years ;  and 
travel  through  time  as  through  a  country  filled  with  many  wild 
and  empty  wastes,  which  we  would  fain  hurry  over,  that  we  may 
arrive  at  those  several  little  settlements  or  imaginary  points  of 
rest  which  are  dispersed  up  and  down  in  it. 

If  we  divide  the  life  of  most  men  into  twenty  parts,  we  shall 
find  that  at  least  nineteen  of  them  are  mere  gaps  and  chasms, 
which  are  neither  filled  with  pleasure  nor  business.  I  do  not, 
however,  include  in  this  calculation  the  life  of  those  men  who 
are  in  a  perpetual  hurry  of  afi'airs,  but  of  those  only  who  are  not 
always  engaged  in  scenes  of  action  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  do 


No.  93.] 


SPECTATOR. 


259 


an  unacceptable  piece  of  service  to  these  persons,  if  I  point  out 
to  them  certain  methods  for  the  filling  up  their  empty  spaces  of 
life.    The  methods  I  shall  propose  to  them  are  as  follow. 

The  first  is  the  exercise  of  virtue,  in  the  most  general  accep- 
tation of  the  word.  That  particular  scheme  which  comprehends 
the  social  virtues,  may  give  employment  to  the  most  industrious 
temper,  and  find  a  man  in  business  more  than  the  most  active 
station  of  life.  To  advise  the  ignorant,  relieve  the  needy,  comfort 
the  afflicted,  are  duties  that  fall  in  our  way  almost  every  day  in  our 
lives.  A  man  has  frequent  opportunities  of  mitigating  the  fierce- 
ness of  a  party  :  of  doing  justice  to  the  character  of  a  deserving 
man  ;  of  softening  the  envious,  quieting  the  angry,  and  rectifying 
the  prejudiced ;  which  are  all  of  them  employments  suited  to  a 
reasonable  nature,  and  bring  great  satisfaction  to  the  person  who 
can  busy  himself  in  them  with  discretion. 

There  is  another  kind  of  virtue  that  may  find  employment  for 
those  retired  hours  in  which  we  are  altogether  left  to  ourselves,  and 
destitute  of  company  and  conversation ;  I  mean  that  intercourse 
and  communication  which  every  reasonable  creature  ought  to 
maintain  with  the  great  author  of  his  being.  The  man  who  lives 
under  an  habitual  sense  of  the  divine  presence,  keeps  up  a 
perpetual  cheerfulness  of  temper,  and  enjoys  every  moment  the 
satisfaction  of  thinking  himself  in  company  with  his  dearest 
and  best  of  friends."  The  time  never  lies  heavy  upon  him  :  it  is 
impossible  for  him  to  be  alone.  His  thoughts  and  passions  are 
the  most  busied  at  such  hours,  when  those  of  other  men  are  the 
most  unactive :  he  no  sooner  steps  out  of  the  world  but  his  heart 
burns  with  devotion,  swells  with  hope,  and  triumphs  in  the 
consciousness  of  that  presence  which  every  where  surrounds  him  ; 

With  his  dearest  and  best  of  friends.  Inaccurate.  It  should  either  be, 
**  with  the  dearest  and  best  of  friends ; "  or  "  with  his  dearest  and  best 
friend." -H. 


260 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  93. 


or,  on  the  contrary,  pours  out  its  fears,  its  sorrows,  its  apprehen- 
sions, to  the  great  supporter  of  its  existence. 

I  have  here  only  considered  the  necessity  of  a  man's  being 
virtuous,  that  he  may  have  something  to  do  ;  but  if  we  consider 
further,  that  the  exercise  of  virtue  is  not  only  an  amusement  for 
the  time  it  lasts,  but  that  its  influence  extends  to  those  parts  of 
our  existence  which  lie  beyond  the  grave,  and  that  our  whole 
eternity  is  to  take  its  colour  from  those  hours  which  we  here 
employ  in  virtue  or  in  vice,  the  argument  redoubles  upon  us  for 
putting  in  practice  this  method  of  passing  away  our  time. 

When  a  man  has  but  a  little  stock  to  improve,  and  has  oppor- 
tunities of  turning  it  all  to  good  account,  what  shall  we  think  of 
him  if  he  suffers  nineteen  parts  of  it  to  lie  dead,  and  perhaps  em- 
ploys even  the  twentieth  to  his  ruin  or  disadvantage  ?  But 
because  the  mind  cannot  be  always  in  its  fervours,  nor  strained 
up  to  a  pitch  of  virtue,  it  is  necessary  to  find  out  proper  employ- 
ments for  it  in  its  relaxations. 

The  next  method,  therefore,  that  I  would  propose  to  fill  up 
our  time,  should  be  useful  and  innocent  diversions.  I  must  con- 
fess I  think  it  is  below  reasonable  creatures  to  be  altogether 
conversant  in  such  diversions  as  are  merely  innocent,  and  have 
nothing  else  to  recommend  them,  but  that  there  is  no  hurt  in 
them.  Whether  any  kind  of  gaming  has  even  thus  much  to  say 
for  itself,  I  shall  not  determine  ;  but  I  think  it  is  very  wonderful 
to  see  persons  of  the  best  sense  passing  away  a  dozen  hours 
together  in  shuffling  and  dividing  a  pack  of  cards  with  no  other 
conversation  but  what  is  made  up  of  a  few  game  phrases,  and  no 
other  ideas  but  those  of  black  or  red  spots  ranged  together  in 
different  figures.  Would  not  a  man  laugh  to  hear  any  one  of  this 
species  complaining  that  life  is  short  ? 

The  stage  might  be  made  a  perpetual  source  of  the  most 
noble  and  useful  entertainments,  were  it  under  proper  regulations. 


No.  98.] 


SPECTATOR. 


261 


But  the  mind  never  unbends  itself  so  agreeably  as  in  the  con- 
versation of  a  well-chosen  friend.  There  is  indeed  no  blessing  of 
life  that  is  any  way  comparable  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  discreet 
and  virtuous  friend.  It  eases  and  unloads  the  mind,  clears  and 
improves  the  understanding,  engenders  thoughts  and  knowledge, 
animates  virtue  and  good  resolutions,  sooths  and  allays  the 
passions,  and  finds  employment  for  most  of  the  vacant  hours 
of  life. 

Next  to  such  an  intimacy  with  a  particular  person,  one  would 
endeavour  after  a  more  general  conversation  with  such  as  are 
able  to  entertain  and  improve  those  with  whom  they  converse, 
which  are  qualifications  that  seldom  go  asunder. 

There  are  many  other  useful  amusements  of  life,  which  one 
would  endeavour  to  multiply,  that  one  might  on  all  occasions  have 
recourse  to  something,  rather  than  suflfer  the  mind  to  lie  idle,  or 
run  adrift  with  any  passion  that  chances  to  rise  in  it. 

A  man  that  has  a  taste  of  music,  painting,  or  architecture,  is 
like  one  that  has  another  sense,  when  compared  with  such  as  have 
no  relish  of  those  arts.  The  florist,  the  planter,  the  gardener, 
the  husbandman,  when  they  are  only  as  accomplishments  to  the 
man  of  fortune,  are  great  reliefs  to  a  country  life,  and  many  ways 
useful  to  those  who  are  possessed  of  them. 

But  of  all  the  diversions  of  life,  there  is  none  so  proper  to  fill 
up  its  empty  spaces  as  the  reading  of  useful  and  entertaining  au- 
thors. But  this  I  shall  only  touch  upon,  because  it  in  some  mea 
sure  interferes  with  the  third  method,  which  I  shall  propose  in 
another  paper,  for  the  employment  of  our  dead  unactive  hours, 
and  which  I  shall  only  mention  in  general  to  be,  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge.  L. 


262 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  94 


No.  94.    MONDAY,  JUNE  18. 

 Hoc  est 

Yivere  bis,  vita  posse  priore  frui. 

Mart.  Epig.  xxiii.  — ^1  v. 
The  present  joys  of  life  we  doubly  taste, 
By  looking  back  with  pleasure  on  the  past 

The  last  method  which  I  proposed  in  my  Saturday's  paper, 
for  filling  up  those  empty  spaces  of  life  which  are  so  tedious  and 
burdensome  to  idle  people,  is  the  employing  ourselves  in  the  pur- 
suit of  knowledge.  I  remember  Mr.  Boyle,  speaking  of  a  certain 
mineral,  tells  us,  that  a  man  may  consume  his  whole  life  in  the 
study  of  it,  without  arriving  at  the  knowledge  of  all  its  qualities. 
The  truth  of  it  is,  there  is  not  a  single  science,  or  any  branch  of  it, 
that  might  not  furnish  a  man  with  business  for  life,  though  it 
were  much  longer  than  it  is. 

I  shall  not  here  engage  on  those  beaten  subjects  of  the  use- 
fulness of  knowledge,  nor  of  the  pleasure  and  perfection  it  gives 
the  mind,  nor  on  the  methods  of  attaining  it,  nor  recommend  any 
particular  branch  of  it,  all  which  have  been  the  topics  of  many 
other  writers  ;  but  shall  indulge  myself  in  a  speculation  that  is 
more  uncommon,  and  may,  therefore,  perhaps,  be  more  enter- 
taining. 

I  have  before  shewn  how  the  unemployed  parts  of  life  appear 
long  and  tedious;  and  shall  here  endeavour  to  shew  how  those 
parts  of  life  which  are  exercised  in  study,  reading,  and  the  pur- 
suits of  knowledge,  are  long,  but  not  tedious,  and  by  that  means 
discover  a  method  of  lengthening  our  lives,  and  at  the  same  time 
of  turning  all  the  parts  of  them  to  our  advantage. 

Mr.  Locke  observes,  "  That  we  get  the  idea  of  time,  or  dura- 
tion, by  reflecting  on  that  train  of  ideas  which  succeed  one  ano- 
ther in  our  minds  :  that  for  this  reason,  when  we  sleep  soundly, 


No.  94,] 


SPECTATOR. 


263 


without  dreaming,  we  have  no  perception  of  time,  or  the  length 
of  it,  whilst  we  sleep  ;  and  that  the  moment  wherein  we  leave  ofi' 
to  think,  till  the  moment  we  begin  to  think  again,  seem  to  have 
no  distance."  To  which  the  author  adds,  "  And  so  I  doubt  not 
but  it  would  be  to  a  waking  man,  if  it  were  possible  for  him  to  keep 
only  one  idea  in  his  mind,  without  variation,  and  the  succession 
of  others  :  and  we  see,  that  one  who  fixes  his  thoughts  very  in- 
tently on  one  thing,  so  as  to  take  but  little  notice  of  the  succes 
sion  of  ideas  that  pass  in  his  mind  whilst  he  is  taken  up  with 
that  earnest  contemplation,  lets  slip  out  of  his  account  a  good 
part  of  that  duration,  and  thinks  that  time  shorter  than  it  is.  ^ 

We  might  carry  this  thought  further,  and  consider  a  man  as, 
on  one  side,  shortening  his  time  by  thinking  on  nothing,  or  but  a 
few  things  :  so,  on  the  other,  as  lengthening  it,  by  employing  his 
thoughts  on  many  subjects,  or  by  entertaining  a  quick  and  con- 
stant succession  of  ideas.  Accordingly  Monsieur  Mallebranche, 
in  his  Enquiry  after  Truth,  (which  was  published  several  years 
before  Mr.  Locke's  Essay  on  Human  Understanding)  tells  us, 
that  it  is  possible  some  creatures  may  think  half  an  hour  as  long 
as  we  do  a  thousand  years  :  or  look  upon  that  space  of  duration 
which  we  call  a  minute,  as  an  hour,  a  week,  a  month,  or  an  whole 
age. 

This  notion  of  Monsieur  Mallebranche  is  capable  of  some  lit- 
tle explanation  from  what  I  have  quoted  out  of  Mr.  Locke ;  for 
if  our  notion  of  time  is  produced  by  our  reflecting  on  the  succes- 
sion of  ideas  in  our  mind,  and  this  succession  may  be  infinitely 
accelerated  or  retarded,  it  will  follow,  that  difi'erent  beings  may 
have  different  notions  of  the  same  parts  of  duration,  according  as 
their  ideas,  which  we  suppose  are  equally  distinct  in  each  of  them, 
follow  one  another  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  rapidity. 

1  Essay  B.  2,  ch.  xiv.  sect.  4. — C. 


264 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  94. 


There  is  a  famous  passage  ia  the  Alcoran,,  which  looks  as  if 
Mahomet  had  been  possessed  of  the  notion  we  are  now  speaking 
of.  It  is  there  said,  that  the  angel  Gabriel  took  Mahomet  out 
of  his  bed  one  morning  to  give  him  a  sight  of  all  things  in  the 
seven  heavens,  in  paradise,  and  in  hell,  which  the  prophet  took  a 
distinct  view  of and  after  having  held  ninety  thousand  confer- 
ences with  God,  was  brought  back  again  to  his  bed.  All  this, 
says  the  Alcoran,  was  transacted  in  so  small  a  space  of  time,  that 
Mahomet  at  his  return  found  his  bed  still  warm,  and  took  up  an 

1  ^fot  in  the  Koran,  but  a  tradition.    V,  Irving's  Mahomet,  ch.  xxii. — GT. 


Which  ike  prophet  took  a  distinct  view  of.  This  way  of  throwing  the 
preposition  to  the  end  of  a  sentence,  is  among  the  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Ad- 
dison's manner ;  and  was  derived  from  his  nice  ear.  The  secret  deserves 
to  be  explained.  The  English  tongue  is  naturally  grave  and  majestic. 
The  rhythm  corresponds  to  the  genius  of  it ;  and  runs,  almost  whether  we 
will  or  no,  into  iambics.  But  the  continuity  of  this  solemn  measure  has  an 
ill-effect,  where  the  subject  is  not  of  moment.  Mr.  Addison's  delicate  ear 
made  him  sensible  of  this  defect  in  the  rhythm  of  our  language,  and  sug- 
gested to  him  the  proper  cure  for  it;  which  was,  to  break  the  continued 
iambic  measure,  especially  at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  where  the  weight  of 
it  would  be  most  felt,  by  a,  preposition,  or  other  short  word,  of  no  emphasis 
in  the  sense,  and  without  accent,  thrown  into  that  part :  whence,  a  trochee, 
being  introduced  into  the  place  of  an  iambus,  would  give  that  air  of  negli- 
gence, and  what  the  French  call  legerete,"  which,  in  a  work  of  gaiety  or 
elegfmce,  is  found  so  taking.  For  instance;  had  the  author  said,  '*  of  which 
the  prophet  took  a  distinct  view  " — the  metre  had  been  wholly  iambic,  or, 
what  is  worse,  would  ha/e  been  loaded  with  a  spondee  in  the  last  foot, 
and  the  accent  must  have  fallen,  with  solemnity,  on  the  word  ^^view."  But 
by  reserving  the  preposition  "  of"  to  the  end  of  the  sentence,  he  gains  this 
advantage,  that  "  view  of  "  becomes  a  trochee ;  and  the  ear  is  not  only  re- 
lieved by  the  variety,  but  escapes  the  ictus"  of  a  too  important  close. 
For  the  same  reason,  he  frequently  terminates  a  sentence,  or  paragraph, 
by  such  unpretending  phrases,  as,  of  it — of  him — to  her — from  them,  (fee.  ; 
which  have  the  same  effect  on  the  ear,  (the  accent,  here,  falliui^  on  the  pre- 
position) and  give  a  careless  air  to  the  rhythm,  exactly  suited  to  the  sub- 
ject and  genius  of  these  little  essay's:  though  the  common  reader,  who  does 
not  enter  into  the  beaut3^of  this  contrivance,  is  ready  to  censure  the  author, 
as  wanting  nerve  and  force. 

In  the  formal  style,  it  is  evident,  this  liberty  should  be  sparingly  used : 
but  in  conversation,  in  letters,  in  narratives,  and,  universalh',  in  al)  the 
lighter  forms  of  composition,  the  Addisonian  terminatio7i,  as  we  may  call 
it,  has  an  extreme  grace. — H. 

Here  Hurd  differs  from  Blair  (v.  Blair,  sect,  xii.,)  and  I  am  glad  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  agreeing  with  Hurd. — G. 


No.  94.] 


SPECTATOR. 


2G5 


earthen  pitcher  (which  was  thrown  down  at  the  very  instant  that 
the  angel  Gabriel  carried  him  away)  before  the  water  was  all 
spilt. 

There  is  a  very  pretty  story  in  the  Turkish  Tales  which  re- 
lates to  this  passage  of  that  famous  impostor,  and  bears  some 
affinity  to  the  subject  we  are  now  upon. 

A  sultan  of  Egypt^  who  was  an  infidel,  used  to  laugh  at  this 
circumstance  in  Mahomet's  life,  as  what  was  altogether  impossi- 
ble and  absurd  :  but  conversing  one  day  with  a  great  doctor  in 
the  law.  who  had  the  gift  of  working  miracles,  the  doctor  told 
him  he  would  quickly  convince  him  of  the  truth  of  this  passage 
in  the  history  of  Mahomet,  if  he  would  consent  to  do  what  he 
should  desire  of  him.  Upon*  this  the  sultan  was  directed  to  place 
himself  by  an  huge  tub  of  water,  which  he  did  accordingly ;  and 
as  he  stood  by  the  tub  amidst  a  circle  of  his  great  men,  the  holy 
man  bid  him  plunge  his  head  into  the  w^ater,  and  draw  it  up 
again ;  the  king  accordingly  thrust  Km  head  into  the  water,  and 
at  the  same  time  found  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain  on  a 
sea-shore.  The  king  immediately  began  to  rage  against  his  doc- 
tor for  this  piece  of  treachery  and  witchcraft ;  but  at  length, 
knowing  it  was  in  vain  to  be  angry,  he  set  himself  to  think  on 
proper  methods  for  getting  a  livelihood  in  this  strange  country : 
accordingly  he  applied  himself  to  some  people  whom  he  saw  at 
work  in  a  neighbouring  wood ;  these  people  conducted  him  to  a 
town  that  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  the  wood,  where,  after 
some  adventures,  he  married  a  woman  of  great  beauty  and  for 
tune.  He  lived  with  this  woman  so  long  that  he  had  by  her  seven 
sons  and  seven  daughters  :  he  was  afterwards  reduced  to  great 
want,  and  forced  to  think  of  plying  in  the  streets  as  a  porter  for 
his  livelihood.  One  day  as  he  was  walking  alone  by  the  sea-side, 
being  seized  with  many  melancholy  reflections  upon  his  former 

VOL.    V. — 12 


266 


SPECTATOR. 


\No.  94 


and  his  present  state  of  life,  which  had  raised  a  fit  of  devotion  in 
him,  he  threw  off  his  clothes  with  a  design  to  wash  himself,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  Mahometans,  before  he  said  his 
prayers. 

After  his  first  plunge  into  the  sea,  he  no  sooner  raised  his 
head  above  the  water  but  he  found  himself  standing  by  the  side 
of  the  tub,  with  the  great  men  of  his  court  about  him,  and  the 
holy  man  at  his  side.  He  immediately  upbraided  his  teacher  for 
having  sent  him  on  such  a  course  of  adventures,  and  betrayed 
him  into  so  long  a  state  of  misery  and  servitude  ;  but  was  won- 
derfully surprised  when  he  heard  that  the  state  he  talked  of  was 
only  a  dream  and  delusion  ;  that  he  had  not  stirred  from  the 
place  where  he  then  stood ;  and  that  he  had  only  dipped  his  head 
into  the  water,  and  immediately  taken  it  out  again. 

The  Mahometan  doctor  took  this  occasion  of  instructing  the 
sultan,  that  nothing  was  impossible  with  God ;  and  that  He, 
with  whom  a  thousand  years  are  but  as  one  day,  can,  if  he 
pleases,  make  a  single  day,  nay,  a  single  moment,  appear  to  any 
of  his  creatures  as  a  thousand  years. 

I  shall  leave  my  reader  to  compare  these  eastern  fables  with 
the  notions  of  those  two  great  philosophers  whom  I  have  quoted 
in  this  paper ;  and  shall  only,  by  way  of  application,  desire  him 
to  consider  how  we  may  extend  life  beyond  its  natural  dimen- 
sions, by  applying  ourselves  diligently  to  the  pursuits  of  know- 
ledge. 

The  hours  of  a  wise  man  are  lengthened  by  his  ideas,  as 
those  of  a  fool  are  by  his  passions  :  the  time  of  the  one  is  long, 
because  he  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  it ;  so  is  that  of  the 
other,  because  he  distinguishes  every  moment  of  it  with  useful 
or  amusing  thoughts;  or,  in  other  words,  because  the  one  is  al 
ways  wishing  it  away,  and  the  other  always  enjoying  it. 


No.  98.] 


SPECTATOR. 


267 


How  different  is  the  view  of  the  past  life,  in  the  man  who  is 
grown  old  in  knowledge  and  wisdom,  from  that  of  him  who  is 
grown  old  in  ignorance  and  folly  !  The  latter  is  like  the  owner 
of  a  barren  country,  that  fills  his  eye  with  the  prospect  of  naked 
hills  and  plains,  which  produce  nothing  either  profitable  or  orna- 
mental; the  other  beholds  a  beautiful  and  spacious  landscape, 
divided  into  delightful  gardens,  green  meadows,  fruitful  fields ; 
and  can  scarce  cast  his  eye  on  a  single  spot  of  his  possessions, 
that  is  not  covered  with  some  beautiful  plant  or  flower.*  L. 


No.  98.    FRIDAY,  JUNE  22. 

 Tanta  est  quaerendi  cura  decoris. 

Juv.  Sat.  V.  500. 
So  studiously  their  persons  they  adorn. 

There  is  not  so  variable  a  thing  in  nature  as  a  lady's  head- 
dress :  within  my  own  memory  I  have  known  it  rise  and  fall 
above  thirty  degrees.  About  ten  years  ago  it  shot  up  to  a  very 
great  height,  insomuch  that  the  female  part  of  our  species  were 
much  taller  than  the  men.^    The  women  were  of  such  enormous 

1  This  refers  to  the  commode  (called  by  the  French  fo7itange\  a  kind  of 
head-dress  worn  by  the  ladies  at  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
which  by  means  of  wire  bore  up  the  hair  and  fore  part  of  the  cap,  consist- 
ing of  many  folds  of  fine  lace,  to  a  prodigious  height.  The  transition  from 
this  to  the  opposite  extreme  was  very  abrupt  and  sudden. — C. 

^  The  plain  good  sense  which  runs  through  the  for?ner  of  tliese  two 
papers,  on  the  e7nployment  of  time,  and  the  ingenuity  of  the  last,  may  satisfy 
us  tliat  the  author  possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  two  great  qualities 
of  a  popular  moralist — 

 simul  et  jucunda  et  idonea  dicere  vitise." 

It  should  further  be  observed,  how  exactly  the  style  of  these  papers  cor- 
responds to  the  subject  of  them  ;  simple,  pure,  perspicuous,  in  the  highest 
degree  ;  such,  in  a  word,  as  shows  the  writer  to  be  in  earnest,  arid  not, 
like  Seneca,  solicitous  to  illustrate  himself,  rather  than  the  truths  he  de- 
livers (which  are  best  seen  by  their  own  light),  in-  the  false  glare  of  ao 
ambitious  rhetoric. — H. 


268 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  98 


stature,  that  ^  we  appeared  as  grasshoppers  before  them  : '  ^  at 
present  the  whole  sex  is  in  a  manner  dwarfed  and  shrunk  into  a 
race  of  beauties  that  seems  almost  another  species.  I  remember 
several  ladies,  who  were  once  very  near  seven  foot  high,  that  at 
present  want  some  inches  of  five  :  how  they  come  to  be  thus  cur- 
tailed I  cannot  learn ;  whether  the  whole  sex  be  at  present  under 
any  penance  which  we  know  nothing  of,  or  whether  they  have 
cast  their  head:dresses  in  order  to  surprise  us  with  something  in 
that  kind  which  shall  be  entirely  new ;  or  whether  some  of  the 
tallest  of  the  sex,  being  too  cunning  for  the  rest,  have  contrived 
this  method  to  make  themselves  appear  sizeable,  is  still  a  secret ; 
though  I  find  most  are  of  opinion,  they  are  at  present  like  trees  new 
lopped  and  pruned,  that  will  certainly  sprout  up  and  flourish  with 
greater  heads  than  before.  For  my  own  part,  as  I  do  not  love 
to  be  insulted  by  women  who  are  taller  than  myself,  I  admire  the 
sex  mucli  more  in  their  present  humiliation,  which  has  reduced 
them  to  their  natural  dimensions,  than  when  they  had  extended 
their  persons,  and  lengthened  themselves  out  into  formidable  and 
gigantic  figures.  I  am  not  for  adding  to  the  beautiful  edifice  of 
nature,  nor  for  raising  any  whimsical  superstructure  upon  her 
plans  :  I  must,  therefore,  repeat  it,  that  I  am  highly  pleased  with 
the  coiffure  now  in  fashion,  and  think  it  shows  the  good  sense 
which  at  present  very  much  reigns  among  the  valuable  part  of 
the  sex.  One  may  observe  that  women  in  all  ages  have  taken 
more  pains  than  men  to  adorn  the  outside  of  their  heads;  and, 
indeed,  I  very  much  admire,  that  those  female  architects,  who 
raise  such  wonderful  structures  out  of  ribbons,  lace,  and  wire, 
have  not  been  recorded  for  their  respective  inventions.  It  is 
certain  there  have  been  as  many  orders  in  these  kinds  of  build- 
ing, as  in  those  which  have  been  made  of  marble  :  sometimes 
they  rise  in  the  shape  of  a  pyramid,  sometimes  like  a  tower,  and 
1  Numbers  xiii.  33. — C. 


No.  98.] 


SPECTATOR. 


269 


sometimes  like  a  steeple.  In  Juvenal's  time,  the  building  grew 
by  several  orders  and  stories,  as  he  has  very  humorously  de- 
scribed it. 

Tot  premit  ordinibus,  tot  adhuc  compagibus  altum 
^dificat  caput;  Andromachen  a  fronte  videbis; 
Post  minor  est :  aliem  credas. 

Juv.  Sat.  vi.  501. 

"With  curls  on  curls  they  build  their  heads  before, 
And  mount  it  with  a  formidable  tow'r, 
A  giantess  she  seems ;  but  look  behind, 
And  then  she  dwindles  to  tlie  pigmy  kind. 

Dryden. 

But  I  do  not  remember,  in  any  part  of  my  reading,  that  the 
head-dress  aspired  to  so  great  an  extravagance  as  in  the  four- 
teenth century ;  when  it  was  built  up  in  a  couple  of  cones  or 
spires,  which  stood  so  excessively  high  on  each  side  of  the  head, 
that  a  woman  who  was  but  a  Pigmy  without  her  head-dress,  appear- 
ed like  a  Colossus  upon  putting  it  on.  Monsieur  Paradin  says,^ 
"  That  these  old  fashioned  fontanges  rose  an  ell  above  the  head  ; 
that  they  were  pointed  like  steeples,  and  had  long  loose  pieces 
'  of  crape  fastened  to  the  tops  of  them,  which  were  curiously 
fringed,  and  hung  down  their  backs  like  streamers." 

The  women  might  possibly  have  carried  this  Gothic  building 
much  higher,  had  not  a  famous  monk,  Thomas  Connecte  by 
name,^  attacked  it  with  great  zeal  and  resolution.    This  holy 

^  Guillaume  Paradin  was  a  French  writer  of  the  sixteenth  century  ;  au- 
thor of  several  voluminous  histories.  It  is  from  his  Annates  de  Burgoigne, 
that  the  following  passages  are  quoted. — 0. 

^  Thomas  Connecte  was  a  Carmelite  monk,  boin  in  Bretagne,  who 
began  to  be  famous  for  his  preaching  in  1428.  After  having  travelled 
through  several  parts  of  Europe,  opposing  the  fashionable  views  of  the 
age,  this  celebrated  preacher  came  at  length  to  Rome,  where  his  zeal  ^lecl 
^him  to  reprove  the  enormities  of  the  Papal  court  and  the  dissoluteness  of 
the  Romish  clergy.  For  this  he  was  imprisoned,  tried,  and  condemned 
to  the  flames  for  heresy:  a  punishment  which  he  suffered  vith  great 
constancy,  in  1434.    V.  Bayle. — C. 


270 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  98 


man  travelled  from  place  .to  place  to  preach  down  this  monstrous 
commode  ;  and  succeeded  so  well  in  it,  that  as  the  magicians 
sacrificed  their  books  to  the  flames  upon  the  preaching  of  an 
apostle,  many  of  the  women  threw  down  their  head-dresses  in  the 
middle  of  his  sermon,  and  made  a  bonfire  of  them  within  sight 
of  the  pulpit.  He  was  so  renowned,  as  well  for  the  sanctity  of 
his  life  as  his  manner  of  preaching,  that  he  had  often  a  congrega- 
tion of  twenty  thousand  people ;  the  men  placing  themselves  on 
the  one  side  of  his  pulpit,  and  the  women  on  the  other,  that  ap- 
peared (to use  the  similitude  of  an  ingenious  writer)  like  a 
forest  of  cedars  with  their  heads  reaching  to  the  clouds.  He  so 
warmed  and  animated  the  people  against  this  monstrous  orna- 
mentj  that  it  lay  under  a  kind  of  persecution ;  and  whenever  it 
appeared  in  public,  was  pelted  down  by  the  rabble,  who  flung 
stones  at  the  persons  that  wore  it.  But  notwithstanding  this 
prodigy  vanished  while  the  preacher  was  among  them,  it  began  to 
appear  again  some  months  after  his  departure ;  or,  to  tell  it  in 
Monsieur  Paradin's  own  words,  "The  women  that,  like  snails  in 
a  fright,  had  drawn  in  their  horns,  shot  them  out  again  as  soon 
as  the  danger  was  over."  This  extravagance  of  the  women's 
head-dresses  in  that  age  is  taken  notice  of  by  Monsieur  D'Ar- 
gentre  in  his  History  of  Bretagne,^  and  by  other  historians  as 
well  as  the  person  I  have  here  quoted. 

It  is  usually  observed,  that  a  good  reign  is  the  only  time  for 
the  making  of  laws  against  the  exorbitance  of  power;  in  the 
same  manner  an  excessive  head-dress  may  be  attacked  the  most 
eifectually  when  the  fashion  is  against  it.  I  do,  therefore,  re- 
commend this  paper  to  my  female  readers  by  way  of  prevention. 

I  would  desire  the  fair  sex  to  consider  how  impossible  it  is 
^  Bertrand  d'Argeutre  died  1590,  aged  71. — 0. 

»  To  use  the  similitude  of  an  ingenious  writer.  An  artful  apology  for  tke 
following  hyperbolical  tiimiiitude. — H. 


No.  99.] 


SPECTATOR. 


271 


for  them  to  add  any  thing  that  can  be  ornamental  to  what  is  al- 
ready the  master  piece  of  nature.  The  head  has  the  most  beauti- 
ful appearance,  as  well  as  the  highest  station,  in  a  human  figure. 
Nature  has  laid  out  all  her  art  in  beautifying  the  face  :  she  has 
touched  it  with  vermillion,  planted  in  it  a  double  row  of  ivory, 
made  it  the  seat  of  smiles  and  blushes,  lighted  it  up  and  enlivened 
it  with  the  brightness  of  the  eyes,  hung  it  on  each  side  with  cu- 
rious organs  of  sense,  given  it  airs  and  graces  that  cannot  be  de- 
scribed, and  surrounded  it  with  such  a  flowing  shade  of  hair  as  sets 
all  its  beauties  in  the  most  agreeable  light :  in  short,  she  seems 
to  have  designed  the  head  as  the  cupola  to  the  most  glorious  of 
her  works ;  and  when  we  load  it  with  such  a  pile  of  supernume- 
rary ornaments,  we  destroy  the  symmetry  of  the  human  figure, 
and  foolishly  contrive  to  call  off  the  eye  from  great  and  real 
beauties,  to  childish  gew-gaws,  ribbons,  and  bone-lace.  L. 


No.  99.    SATURDAY,  JUNE  23. 

 Turpi  secernis  honestum. 

HoR.  1.  Sat.  vi.  63. 

You  know  to  fix  the  bounds  of  right  and  wrong. 

The  club,  of  which  I  have  often  declared  myself  a  member, 
were  last  night  engaged  in  a  discourse  upon  that  which  passes 
for  the  chief  point  of  honour  among  men  and  women  ;  and  started 
a  great  many  hints  upon  the  subject,  which  I  thought  were  en- 
tirely new.  I  shall,  therefore,  methodize  the  several  reflections 
that  arose  upon  this  occasion,  and  present  my  reader  with  them 
for  the  speculation  of  this  day;  after  having  premised,  that  if 
there  is  any  thing  in  this  paper  which  seems  to  differ  with  any 


272 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  99 


passage  of  last  Thirsday's/  the  reader  will  consider  this  as  the 
sentiments  of  the  club,  and  the  other  as  my  own  private  thoughts, 
or  rather  those  of  Pharamond. 

The  great  point  of  honour  in  men  is  courage,  and  in  women 
chastity.  If  a  man  loses  his  honour  in  one  rencounter,  it  is  not 
impossible  for  him  to  "regain  it  in  another;  a  slip  in  a  woman's 
honour  is  irrecoverable.  I  can  give  no  reason  for  fixing  the  point 
of  honour  to  these  two  qualities,  unless  it  be  that  each  sex  sets 
the  greatest  value  on  the  qualification  which  renders  them  the 
most  amiable  in  the  eyes  of  the  contrary  sex.  Had  men  chosen 
for  themselves,  without  regard  to  the  opinions  of  the  fair  sex,  I 
should  believe  the  choice  would  have  fallen  on  wisdom  or  virtue ; 
or  had  women  determined  their  own  point  of  honour,  it  is  prob- 
able that  wit  or  good-nature  would  have  carried  it  against 
chastity. 

Nothing  recommends  a  man  more  to  the  female  sex  than 
courage  ;  whether  it  be  that  they  are  pleased  to  see  one  who  is  a 
terror  to  others  fall  like  a  slave  at  their  feet,  or  that  this  quality 
supplies  their  own  principal  defect,  in  guarding  them  from  insults, 
and  avenging  their  quarrels,  or  that  courage  is  a  natural  indication 
of  a  strong  and  sprightly  constitution.  On  the  other  side,  noth- 
ing makes  a  woman  more  esteemed  by  the  opposite  sex  than 
chastity ;  whether  it  be  that  we  always  prize  those  most  who  are 
hardest  to  come  at,  or  that  nothing  besides  chastity,  with  its  col- 
lateral attendants,  truth,  fidelity,  and  constancy,  gives  the  man  a 
property  in  the  person  he  loves,  and  consequently  endear**  her  to 
him  above  all  things. 

I  am  very  much  pleased  with  a  passage  in  the  inscription  on 
a  monument  erected  in  Westminster  Abby  to  the  late  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Newcastle  :     Her  name  was  Margaret  Lucas,  young- 


i  V.  Ko.  97.— C. 


No.  99.] 


SPECTATOR. 


273 


est  sister  to  the  Lord  Lucas  of  Colchester  :  a  noble  family ;  for 
all  tJie  brothers  were  valiant^  and  all  the  sisters  virtuous y 

In  books  of  chivalry,  where  the  point  of  honour  is  strained  to 
luadness,  the  whole  story  runs  on  chastity  and  courage.  The 
damsel  is  mounted  on  a  white  palfrey,  as  an  emblem  of  her  inno- 
cence :  and,  to  avoid  scandal,  must  have  a  dwarf  for  her  page. 
She  is  not  to  think  of  a  man,  till  some  misfortune  has  brought  a 
knight-errant  to  her  relief  The  knight  falls  in  love ;  and  did 
not  gratitude  restrain  her  from  murdering  her  deliverer,  would 
die  at  her  feet  by  her  disdain.  However,  he  must  waste  many 
years  in  the  desert,  before  her  virgin-heart  can  think  of  a  sur- 
render. The  knight  goes  off,  attacks  every  thing  he  meets  that 
is  bigger  and  stronger  than  himself,  seeks  all  opportunities  of 
being  knocked  on  the  head,  and  after  seven  years  rambling  returns 
to  his  mistress,  whose  chastity  has  been  attacked  in  the  mean 
time  by  giants  and  tyrants,  and  undergone  as  many  trials  as  her 
lover's  valour. 

In  Spain,  where  there  are  still  great  remains  of  this  romantic 
humour,  it  is  a  transporting  favour  for  a  lady  to  cast  an  accidental 
glance  on  her  lover  from  a  window,  though  it  be  two  or  three 
stories  high  ;  as  it  is  usual  for  a  lover  to  assert  his  passion  for  his 
mistress,  in  single  combat  with  a  mad  bull. 

The  great  violation  of  the  point  of  honour  from  man  to  man, 
is  giving  the  lie.  One  may  tell  another  he  whores,  drinks,  blas- 
phemes, and  it  may  pass  unresented  ;  but  to  say  he  lies,  though 
but  in  jest,  is  an  affront  that  nothing  but  blood  can  expiate.  The 
reason  perhaps  may  be,  because  no  other  vice  implies  a  want  of 
courage  so  much  as  the  making  of  a  lie ;  and,  therefore,  telling  a 
man  he  lies,  is  touching  him  in  the  most  sensible  part  of  honour, 
and  indirectly  calling  him  a  coward.  I  cannot  omit  under  this 
head  what  Herodotus  tells  us  of  the  ancient  Persians,  that  from 
the  age  of  five  years  to  twenty,  they  instruct  their  sons  only  iu 
VOL.   v. — 12* 


274 


SPECTATOR. 


[No  99 


three  things,  t.  manage  the  horse,  to  make  use  of  the  bow,  and  tt 
speak  truth. 

The  placmg  the  point  of  honour  in  this  false  kind  of  courage, 
has  given  occasion  to  the  very  refuse  of  mankind,  who  have  neither 
virtue  nor  common  sense,  to  set  up  for  men  of  honour.  An  Eng- 
lish peer,  who  has  not  been  long  dead,^  used  to  tell  a  pleasant 
story  of  a  French  gentleman  that  visited  him  early  one  morning 
at  Paris,  and,  after  great  professions  of  respect,  let  him  know  that 
he  had  it  in  his  power  to  oblige  him ;  which  in  short  amounted  to 
this,  that  he  believed  he  could  tell  his  lordship  the  person's  name 
who  justled  him  as  he  came  out  from  the  opera ;  but,  before  he 
would  proceed,  he  begged  his  lordship  that  he  would  not  deny 
him  the  honour  of  making  him  his  second.  The  English  lord,  to 
avoid  being  drawn  into  a  very  foolish  affair,  told  him  that  he  was 
under  engagements  for  his  two  next  duels  to  a  couple  of  particular 
friends.  Upon  which  the  gentleman  immediately  withdrew,  hop- 
ing his  lordship  would  not  take  it  ill,  if  he  meddled  no  farther  in 
an  affair  from  whence  he  himself  was  to  receive  no  advantage. 

The  beating  down  this  false  notion  of  honour,  in  so  vain 
and  lively  a  people  as  those  of  France,  is  deservedly  looked  upon 
as  one  of  the  most  glorious  parts  of  their  present  king's  reign. 
It  is  pity  but  the  punishment  of  these  mischievous  notions 
should  have  in  it  some  particular  circumstances  of  shame  and  in- 
famy ;  that  those  who  are  slaves  to  them  may  see,  that  instead  of 
advancing  their  reputations,  they  lead  them  to  ignominy  and  dis- 
honour. 

Death  is  not  sufficient  to  deter  men,  who  make  it  their  glory 
to  despise  it ;  but  if  every  one  that  fought  a  duel  were  to  stand 
in  the  pillory,  it  would  quickly  lessen  the  number  of  these  imag- 
inary men  of  honour,  and  put  an  end  to  so  absurd  a  practice. 

*  Said  to  have  been  WilHam  Cavendish,  first  Duke  of  Devonshire,  who 
died  Aug.  18,  1109,^=^0. 


No.  101.] 


STECTATOR 


275 


When  honour  is  a  support  to  virtuous  principles,  and  runs 
parallel  with  the  laws  of  God  and  our  country,  it  cannot  be  too 
much  cherished  and  encouraged ;  but  when  the  dictates  of  hon- 
our are  contrary  to  those  of  religion  and  equity,  they  are  the 
greatest  ;  depravations  of  human  nature,  by  giving  wrong  ambi- 
tions and  false  ideas  of  what  is  good  and  laudable  ;  and  should, 
therefore,  be  exploded  by  all  governments,  and  driven  out  as  the 
bane  and  plague  of  human  society.  L.. 


No.  101.    TUESDAY,  JUNE  26. 

Romulus,  et  Liber  pater,  et  cum  Castore  Pollux, 
Post  ingentia,  facta,  deorum  in  templa  recepti ; 
Dum  terras  hominumque  colunt  genus,  aspera  bella 
Componunt,  agros  assignant,  oi)pida  condunt ; 
Ploravere  suis  non  respondere  favorem 
Speratum  meritis :  

HoR.  2.  Ep.  1.  5. 

IMITATED. 

Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of  feme, 
And  virtuous  Alfred,  a  more  sa«3red  name. 
After  a  life  of  gen'rous  toils  endur'd, 
The  Gauls  subdued,  or  property  secur'd, 
Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  storm'd. 
Our  laws  establish'd,  and  the  world  reformed, 
Clos'd  their  long  glories  with  a  sigh,  to  find 
Th'  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind. 

Pope. 

Censure,  says  a  late  ingenious  author,  '  is  the  tax  a  man 
pays  to  the  public  for  being  eminent.'  ^  It  is  a  folly  for  an  emi- 
nent man  to  think  of  escaping  it,  and  a  weakness  to  be  affected 
with  it.  All  thie  illustrious  persons  of  antiquity,  and,  indeed,  of 
every  age  in  the  world,  have  passed  through  this  fiery  persecu- 

^  Bishop  Hoadley,  in  one  of  his  political  pamphlets,  calls  censure,  the 
perquisite  of  great  offices;  but  the  quotation  is  quoted  from  Swift.  V.  his 
works,  vol  iii.  p.  211 — ed.  in  8vo.  1766,  24  vols. — C. 


276 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  101 


tiou.  There  is  no  defence  against  reproach,  but  obscurity ;  it  is 
a  kind  of  concomitant  to  greatness,  as  satires  and  invectives  were 
an  essential  part  of  a  Roman  triumph. 

If  men  of  eminence  are  exposed  to  censure  on  one  hand,  they 
are  as  much  liable  to  flattery  on  the  other.  If  they  receive  re- 
proaches which  are  not  due  to  them,  they  likewise  receive  praises 
which  they  do  not  de^serve.  In  a  word,  the  man  in  a  high  post  is 
v,over  regarded  with  an  indifferent  eye,  but  always  considered  as 
a  friend  or  an  enemy.  For  this  reason  persons  in  great  stations 
have  seldom  their  true  characters  drawn  till  several  years  after 
their  deaths.  Their  personal  friendships  and  enmities  must 
;  ease,  and  the  parties  they  were  engaged  in  be  at  an  end,  before 
their  faults  or  their  virtues  can  have  justice  done  them.  When 
^^Titers  have  the  least  opportunities  of  knowing  the  truth,  they 

in  the  best  disposition  to  tell  it. 

It  is,  therefore,  the  privilege  of  posterity  to  adjust  the  char- 
acters of  illustrious  persons,  and  to  set  matters  right  between 
those  antagonists,  who  by  their  rivalry  for  greatness  divided  a 
whole  age  into  factions.  We  can  now  allow  Caesar  to  be  a 
great  man,  without  derogating  from  Pompey  ;  and  celebrate  the 
virtues  of  Gato,  without  detracting  from  those  of  Caesar.  Every 
one  that  has  been  long  dead  has  a  due  proportion  of  praise  al- 
lotted him,  in  which  whilst  he  lived  his  friends  were  too  profuse, 
and  his  enemies  too  sparing. 

According  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  calculations,  the  last  comet 
that  made  its  appearance  in  1680,  imbibed  so  much  heat  by  its 
approaches  to  the  sun,  that  it  would  have  been  two  thousand  times 
hotter  than  red  hot  iron,  had  it  been  a  globe  of  that  metal:  and 
that  supposing  it  as  big  as  the  earth,  and  at  the  same  distance 
from  the  sun,  it  would  be  fifty  thousand  years  in  cooling,  before 
it  recovered  its  natural  temper.  In  the  like  manner,  if  an  Eng- 
lishman considers  the  great  ferment  into  which  our  political  world 


No  101.]  SPECTATOR.  277 

is  thrown  at  present,  and  how  intensely  it  is  heated  in  all  its 
parts,  he  cannot  suppose  that  it  will  cool  again  in  less  than  three 
hundied  years.  In  such  a  tract  of  time  it  is  possible  that  the 
heats  of  the  present  age  may  be  extinguished,  and  our  several 
classes  of  great  men  represented  under  their  proper  characters. 
Some  eminent  historian  may  then  probably  arise,  that  will  not 
write  recentibus  odiis  (as  Tacitus  expresses  it)  with  the  passions 
and  prejudices  of  a  contemporary  author,  but  make  an  impartial 
distribution  of  fame  among  the  great  men  of  the  present  age. 

I  cannot  forbear  entertaining  myself  very  often  with  the  idea 
of  such  an  imaginary  historian  describing  the  reign  of  Anne  the 
first,  and  inti^ducing  it  with  a  preface  to  his  reader  ;  that  he  is 
now  entering  upon  the  most  shining  part  of  the  English  story. 
The  great  rivals  in  fame  will  be  then  distinguished  according  to 
their  respective  merits,  and  shine  in  their  proper  points  of  light. 
Such  an  one  (says  the  historian)  though  variously  represented  by 
the  writers  of  his  own  age,  appears  to  have  been  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  abilities,  great  application,  and  uncommon  integri- 
ty ;  nor  was  such  an  one  (though  of  an  opposite  party  and  inter- 
est) inferior  to  him  in  any  of  these  respects.  The  several  anta- 
gonists who  now  endeavour  to  depreciate  one  another,  and  are  cel- 
ebrated or  traduced  by  different  parties,  will  then  have  the  same 
body  of  admirers,  and  appear  illustrious  in  the  opinion  of  the 
whole  British  nation.  The  deserving  man,  who  can  now  recom- 
mend himself  to  the  esteem  of  but  half  his  countrymen,  will  then 
receive  the  approbations  and  applauses  of  a  whole  age. 

Among  the  several  persons  that  flourish  in  this  glorious  reign^ 
there  is  no  question  but  such  a  future  historian  as  the  person  of 
whom  I  am  speaking,  will  make  mention  of  the  men  of  genius 
and  learning,  who  have  now  any  figure  in  the  British  nation.  For 
my  own  part,  I  often  flatter  myself  with  the  honourable  mention 
which  will  then  be  made  of  me  :  and  have  drawn  up  a  paragraph 


278 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  101 


in  my  own  imagination,  that  I  fancy  will  not  be  altogether  unlike 
what  will  be  found  in  some  page  or  other  of  this  imaginary  his 
torian. 

It  was  under  this  reign,  says  he,  that  the  Spectator  published 
those  little  diurnal  essays  which  are  still  extant.  We  know  very 
little  of  the  name  or  person  of  this  author,  except  only  that  he 
was  a  man  of  a  very  short  face,  extremely  addicted  to  silence,  and 
so  great  a  lover  of  knowledge,  that  he  made  a  voyage  to  Grand 
Cairo  for  no  other  reason,  but  to  take  the  measure  of  a  pyramid. 
His  chief  friend  was  one  Sir  Roger  de  Goverley,  a  whimsical 
country  knight,  and  a  templer  whose  name  he  has  not  transmitted 
to  us.  He  lived  as  a  lodger  at  the  house  of  a  widow-woman,  and 
was  a  great  humorist  in  all  parts  of  his  life.  This  is  all  we  can 
affirm  with  any  certainty  of  his  person  and  character.  As  for 
his  speculations,  notwithstanding  the  several  obsolete  words  and 
obscure  phrases  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  we  still  understand 
enough  of  them  to  see  the  diversions  and  characters  of  the  Eng- 
lish nation  in  his  time  :  not  but  that  we  are  to  make  allowance 
for  the  mirth  and  humour  of  the  author,  who  has  doubtless 
strained  many  representations  of  things  beyond  the  truth.  For 
if  we  interpret  his  words  in  their  literal  meaning,  we  must  sup- 
pose that  women  of  the  first  quality  used  to  pass  away  whole 
mornings  at  a  puppet-show  :  ^  that  they  attested  their  principles 
by  their  patches ;  ^  that  an  audience  would  sit  out  an  evening  to 
hear  a  dramatical  performance  written  in  a  language  which  they 
did  not  understand  :  ^  that  chairs  and  flower  pots  were  introduced 
as  actors  upon  the  British  stage  :  *  that  a  promiscuous  assembly 
of  men  and  women  were  allowed  to  meet  at  midnight  in  masejues 
within  the  verge  of  the  court ;  ^  with  many  improbabilities  of  the 

1  Y.  No.  14.  No.  81.       '  V.  No.  18.       *  V.  Nos.  22  and  36. 

^  Public  masquerades  were  iutroduced  by  the  Duke  d'Aumont  after 
the  peace  of  Utrecht,  in  Somerset  house. — P. 


No.  102.1 


SPECTATOR 


279 


like  nature.  We  must  therefore,  in  these  and  the  like  cases,  sup 
pose  that  these  remote  hints  and  allusions  aimed  at  some  certain 
follies  which  were  then  in  vogue,  and  which  at  present  we  have 
not  any  notion  of.  We  may  guess  by  several  passages  in  the 
Speculations,  that  there  were  writers  who  endeavoured  to  detract 
from  the  works  of  this  author ;  but  as  nothing  of  this  nature  is 
come  down  to  us,  we  cannot  guess  at  any  objections  .that  could  be 
made  to  his  paper.  If  we  consider  his  style  with  that  indulgence 
which  we  must  shew  to  old  English  writers,  or  if  we  look  into 
the  variety  of  his  subjects,  with  those  several  critical  disserta- 
tions, moral  reflections,  **##**# 
##*#*#**#*## 

%########### 

The  following  part  of  the  paragraph  is  so  much  to  my  advan- 
tage, and  beyond  any  thing  I  can  pretend  to,  that  I  hope  my 
reader  will  excuse  me  for  not  inserting  it.  L. 


No.  102.    WEDNESDAY,  JUNE  27. 

 Lusus  animo  debent  aliquando  dari, 

Ad  cogitandum  melior  ut  redeat  sibi. 

Ph^edr.  Fab.  xiv.  8. 

The  mind  ought  sometimes  to  be  diverted,  that  it  may  return  the  better  to  thinking. 

I  DO  not  know  whether  to  call  the  following  letter  a  satire 
upon  coquettes,  or  a  representation  of  their  several  fantastical 
accomplishments,  or  what  other  title  to  give  it ;  but  as  it  is  I 
shall  communicate  it  to  the  public.  It  will  sufficiently  explain 
its  own  intentions,  so  that  I  shall  give  it  my  reader  at  length 
without  either  preface  or  postscript. 


280 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  102 


"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  AVoMEN  are  armed  with  fans  as  men  with  swords,  and  some- 
times do  more  execution  with  them.  To  the  end,  therefore,  that 
ladies  may  be  entire  mistresses  of  the  weapon  which  they  bear,  I 
have  erected  an  Academy  for  the  training  up  of  young  women  in 
the  Exercise  of  the  Fan,  according  to  the  most  fashionable  airs 
and  motions .  that  are  now  practised  at  court.  The  ladies  who 
carry  fans  under  me  are  drawn  up  twice  a  day  in  my  great  hall, 
where  they  are  instructed  in  the  use  of  their  arms,  and  exercised 
by  the  following  words  of  command  : 

Handle  your  Fans^ 
Unfurl  your  Fans^ 
Discharge  your  Fans^ 
Ground  your  Fans, 
Recover  your  FanSj 
Flutter  your  Fans. 

"  By  the  right  observation  orf  these  few  plain  words  of  command, 
a  woman  of  a  tolerable  genius  who  will  apply  herself  diligently  to 
her  exercise  for  the  space  of  one  half  year,  shall  be  able  to  give 
her  fan  all  the  graces  that  can  possibly  enter  into  that  little 
modish  machine. 

"  But  to  the  end  that  my  readers  may  form  to  themselves  a 
right  notion  of  this  Exercise,  I  beg  leave  to  explain  it  to  them  in 
all  its  parts.  When  my  female  regiment  is  drawn  up  in  array, 
with  every  one  her  weapon  in  her  hand,  upon  my  giving  the  word 
to  Handle  their  Fans,  each  of  them  shakes  her  fan  at  me  with  a 
smile,  then  gives  her  right-hand  woman  a  tap  upon  the  shoulder, 
then  presses  her  lips  with  the  extremity  of  her  fan,  then  lets  her 
arms  fall  in  an  easy  motion,  and  stands  in  readiness  to  receive 
the  next  word  of  command.  All  this  is  done  with  a  close  fan, 
and  is  generally  learned  in  the  first  week. 


No,  102.] 


S  P  E  C  T  A  1'  O  R  . 


2Si 


The  next  motion  is  that  of  Unfurling  the  Fan,  in  which  are 
comprehended  several  little  flirts  and  vibrations,  as  also  gradual 
and  deliberate  openings,  with  many  voluntary  fallings  asunder  in 
the  fan  itself,  that  are  seldom,  learned  under  a  month's  practice. 
This  part  of  the  exercise  pleases  the  spectators  more  than  any 
other,  as  it  discovers  on  a  sudden  an  infinite  number  of  cupids, 
garlands,  altars,  birds,  beasts,  rainbows,  and  the  like  agreeable 
figures,  that  display  themselves  to  view,  whilst  every  one  in  the 
regiment  holds  a  picture  in  her  hand.  ' 

"  Upon  my  giving  the  word  to  Discharge  their  Fans,  they 
give  one  general  crack,  that  may  be  heard  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance when  the  wind  sits  fair.  This  is  one  of  the  most  difficult 
parts  of  the  exercise ;  but  I  have  several  ladies  with  me,  who  at 
their  first  entrance  could  not  give  a  pop  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
at  the  further  end  of  a  room,  who  can  now  Discharge  a  Fan  in 
such  a  manner,  that  it  shall  make  a  report  like  a  pocket-pistol. 
I  have  likewise  taken  care  (in  order  to  hinder  young  women  from 
letting  off  their  fans  in  wrong  places  or  unsuitable  occasions)  to 
shew  upon  what  subject  the  crack  of  a  Fan  may  come  in  properly. 
I  have  likewise  invented  a  Fan,  with  which  a  girl  of  sixteen,  by 
the  help  of  a  little  wind  which  is  enclosed  about  one  of  the 
largest  sticks,  can  make  as  loud  a  crack  as  a  woman  of  fifty  with 
an  ordinary  Fan. 

"  When  the  Fans  are  thus  discharged,  the  word  of  command 
in  course  is  to  Ground  their  Fans.  This  teaches  a  lady  to  quit 
her  Fan  gracefully  when  she  throws  it  aside,  in  order  to  take  up 
a  pack  of  cards,  adjust  a  curl  of  hair,  replace  a  falling  pin,  or 
apply  herself  to  any  other  matter  of  importance.  This  part  of 
the  exercise,  as  it  only  consists  in  tossing  a  Fan  with  an  air  upon 
a  long  table  (which  stands  by  for  that  purpose)  may  be  learned 
in  two  days  time  as  well  as  in  a  twelvemonth. 

"  When  my  female  regiment  is  thus  disarmed,  I  generally  let 


282 


SPECTATOR 


[Xo.  101 


them  walk  about  the  room  for  some  time  ;  when  on  a  sudden 
(like  ladies  that  look  upon  their  watches  after  a  long  visit)  they 
all  of  them  hasten  to  their  arms,  catch  them  up  in  a  hurry,  and 
place  themselves  in  their  proper  stations,  upon  my  calling  out 
Recover  your  Fans.  This  part  of  the  exercise  is  not  difficult, 
provided  a  woman  applies  her  thoughts  to  it. 

The  Fluttering  of  the  Fan  is  the  last,^  and,  indeed,  the 
master-piece  of  the  whole  exercise  ;  but  if  a  lady  does  not  mis- 
spend her  time,  she  may  make  herself  mistress  of  it  in  three 
months.  I  generally  lay  aside  the  dog-days  and  the  hot  time  of 
the  summer  for  the  teaching  this  part  of  the  exercise  ;  for  as  soon 
as  ever  I  pronounce  Flutter  your  Fans,  the  place  is  filled  with  so 
many  zephyrs  and  gentle  breezes  as  are  very  refreshing  in  that 
season  of  the  year,  though  they  might  be  dangerous  to  ladies  of  a 
tender  constitution  in  any  other. 

There  is  an  infinite  variety  of  motions  to  be  made  use  of  in 
the  Flutter  of  a  Fan :  there  is  the  angry  flutter,  the  modest 
flutter,  the  timorous  flutter,  the  confused  flutter,  the  merry  flutter, 
and  the  amorous  flutter.  Not  to  be  tedious,  there  is  scarce  any 
emotion  in  the  mind  which  does  not  produce  a  suitable  agitation 
in  the  Fan ;  insomuch,  that  if  I  only  see  the  Fan  of  a  disciplined 
lady,  I  know  very  well  whether  she  laughs,  frowns,  or  blushes. 
I  have  seen  a  Fan  so  very  angry,  that  it  would  have  been  danger- 
ous for  the  absent  lover  who  provoked  it  to  have  come  within  the 
wind  of  it ;  and  at  other  times  so  very  languishing,  that  I  have 
been  glad  for  the  lady's  sake  the  lover  was  at  a  sufficient  distance 
from  it.  I  need  not  add,  that  a  Fan  is  either  a  prude  or 
coquette,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  person  who  bears  it.  To 
conclude  my  letter,  I  must  acquaint  you,  that  I  have  from  my 
own  observations  compiled  a  little  treatise  for  the  use  of  my 

i  The  fluttering  fan  be  Zephiretta's  care. 

Rape  of  the  Lock,  Canto  II.  112.— G 


No.  105.] 


SPECTATOR. 


283 


scholars,  intitledj  The  Passions  of  the  Fan ;  which  I  will  com- 
municate to  you,  if  you  think  it  may  be  of  use  to  the  public.  I 
shall  have  a  general  review  on  Thursday  next :  to  which  you 
shall  be  very  welcome  if  you  will  honour  it  with  your  presence. 

"  I  am,"  &c. 

P.  S.  ^'  I  teach  young  gentlemen  the  whole  art  of  gallanting 
a  Fan. 

N.  B.  "  I  have  several  little  plain  Fans  made  for  this  use, 
to  avoid  expence." 


No.  105.    SATURDAY,  JUNE  30. 

 Id  arbitror 

Adprime  in  vita  esse  utile,  ne  quid  nimis. 

Ter.  And.  Act  1,  Sc.  1. 
I  take  it  to  be  a  principal  rule  of  life,  not  to  be  too  much  addicted  to  any  one  thing. 

My  friend  Will  Honeycomb  values  himself  very  much  upon 
what  he  calls  the  knowledge  of  mankind,  which  has  cost  him  many 
disasters  in  his  youth;  for  Will  reckons  every  misfortune  that  he 
has  met  with  among  the  women,  and  every  rencounter  among  the 
men,  as  parts  of  his  education,  and  fancies  he  should  never  have 
been  the  man  he  is,  had  not  he  broke  windows,  knocked  down 
constables,  disturbed  honest  people  with  his  midnight  serenades, 
and  beat  up  a  lewd  woman's  quarters,  when  he  was  a  young  fellow. 
The  engaging  in  adventures  of  this  nature  Will  calls  the  studying 
of  mankind ;  and  terms  this  knowledge  of  the  town,  the  know- 
ledge of  the  world.  Will  ingenuously  confesses,  that  for  half  his 
life  his  head  aked  every  morning  with  reading  of  men  over-night ; 
and  at  present  comforts  himself  under  certain  pains  which  he 
endures  from  time  to  time,  that  without  them  he  could  not  have 


284 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  10c 


been  acquainted  with  the  gallantries  of  the  age.  This  Will  looks 
upon  as  the  learning  of  a  gentleman,  and  regards  all  other  kinds 
of  science  as  the  accomplishments  of  one  whom  he  calls  a  scholar, 
a  bookish  man,  or  a  philosopher. 

For  these  reasons  Will  shines  in  mixed  company,  where  he 
has  the  discretion  not  to  go  out  of  his  depth,  and  has  often 
a  certain  way  of  making  his  real  ignorance  appear  a  seeming  one. 
Our  club,  however,  has  frequently  caught  him  tripping,  at  which 
times  they  never  spare  him.  For  as  Will  often  insults  us  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  town,  we  sometimes  take  our  revenge  upon  him 
by  our  knowledge  of  books. 

He  was  last  week  producing  two  or  three  letters  which  he 
writ  in  his  youth  to  a  coquette  lady.  The  raillery  of  them  was 
natural,  and  well  enough  for  a  meer  man  of  the  town;  but,  very 
unluckily,  several  of  the  words  were  wrong  spelt.  Will  laught 
this  off  at  first  as  well  as  he  could,  but  finding  himself  pushed  on 
all  sides,  and  especially  by  the  templar,  he  told  us,  with  a  little 
passion,  that  he  never  liked  pedantry  in  spelling,  and  that  he  spelt 
like  a  gentleman,  and  not  like  a  scholar :  upon  this  Will  had  re- 
course to  his  old  topic  of  shewing  the  narrow-spiritedness,.  the 
pride,  and  ignorance  of  pedants ;  which  he  carried  so  far,  that 
upon  my  retiring  to  my  lodgings,  I  could  not  forbear  throwing 
together  such  reflections  as  occurred  to  me  upon  that  subject. 

A  man  who  has  been  brought  up  among  books,  and  is  able  to 
talk  of  nothing  else,  is  a  very  indifferent  companion,  and  what  we 
call  a  pedant.  But,  methiuks,  we  should  enlarge  the  title,  and 
give  it  every  one  that  does  not  know  how  to  think  out  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  particular  way  of  life. 

What  is  a  greater  pedant  than  a  mere  man  of  the  town?  Bar 
him  the  play-houses,  a  catalogue  of  the  reigning  beauties,  and  an 
account  of  a  few  fashionable  distempers  that  have  befallen  him, 


No.  105.1 


SPECTATOR. 


285 


and  you  strike  him  dumb.  How  many  a  pretty  gentleman's'* 
knowledge  lies  all  within  the  verge  of  the  court  ?  He  will  tell 
you  the  names  of  the  principal  favourites,  repeat  the  shrewd  say- 
ings of  a  man  of  quality,  whisper  an  intrigue  that  is  not  yet  blown 
upon  by  common  fame;  or,  if  the  sphere  of  his  observations  is  a 
little  larger  than  ordinary,  will  perhaps  enter  into  all  the  incidents, 
turns,  and  revolutions  in  a  game  of  ombre.  When  he  has  gone 
thus  far,  he  has  shewn  you  the  whole  circle  of  his  accomplish- 
ments, his  parts  are  drained,  and  he  is  disabled  from  any  farther 
conversation.  What  are  these  but  rank  pedants  ?  and  yet  these 
are  the  men  who  value  themselves  most  on  their  exemption  from 
the  pedantry  of  colleges. 

I  might  here  mention  the  military  pedant,  who  always  talks 
in  a  camp,  and  is  storming  towns,  making  lodgments,  and  fighting 
battles  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other.  Every  thing  he 
speaks  smells  of  gunpowder  ;  if  you  take  away  his  artillery  from 
him,  he  has  not  a  word  to  say  for  himself.  I  might  likewise  men- 
tion the  law  pedant,  that  is  perpetually  putting  cases,  repeating  the 
transactions  of  Westminster-Hall,  wrangling  with  you  upon  the 
most  indifferent  circumstances  of  life,  and  not  to  be  convinced  of 
the  distance  of  a  place,  or  of  the  most  trivial  point  in  conversa- 
tion, but  by  dint  of  argument.  The  state  pedant  is  wrapt  up  in 
news,  and  lost  in  politics.  If  you  mention  either  of  the  kings  of 
Spain  or  Poland,  he  talks  very  notably;  but  if  you  go  out  of  the 

a  Many  a  man,  is  used  iti  familiar  discourse,  for  many  men.  This  wav 
of  speaking  is  anomalous,  and  seemingly  absurd,  but  may,  in  some  sort,  be 
accounted  for,  by  observing  that  the  indefinite  particle  "a"  means  "oh^," 
in  reference  to  more.  So  that,  many  a  ma7i,  is  the  same  thing,  as  one  m.an 
of  many.  But  we  cannot,  that  is,  we  do  not,  say  interrogatively,  "  liow 
mamy  a  man^''  for,  how  taany  men  f  I  know  not  for  what  reason,  unless  it 
be  that  the  intensive  adverb,  ''how''  prefixed  to  ''ynany^'  implies  so  great  a 
number,  as  makes  the  anomaly  of  the  expression  more  shocking:  1  think 
this  must  be  the  reason,  because,  when  ''how"  is  applied  to  the  verb  and 
not  to  the  adjective,  we  still  use  this  form  of  speech,  interrogatively  ;  as, 
how  is  many  a  man  dis'ressed  by  his  own  folly  !  i.  e.  how  much  is  man}^  a  man 
distressed — which  shews,  that  the  other  question  is  not  asked,  because  the 
V2nse  of  "many''  is  heightened  by  the  prefix. — H. 


286 


SPECTATOR. 


|No.  105 


G-azette/  you  drop  him.  In  short,  a  mere  courtier,  a  mere  sol- 
dier, a  mere  scholar,  a  mere  any  thing,  is  an  insipid  pedantic  cha- 
racter, and  equally  ridiculous. 

Of  all  the  species  of  pedants  which  I  have  mentioned,  the 
book-pedant  is  much  the  most  supportable ;  he  has  at  least  an 
exercised  understanding,  and  a  head  which  is  full,  though  confus- 
ed ;  so  that  a  man  who  converses  with  him  may  often  receive 
from  him  hints  of  things  that  are  worth  knowing,  and  what  he 
may  possibly  turn  to  his  own  advantage,  though  they  are  of  little 
use  to  the  owner.  The  vrorst  kind  of  pedants  among  learned 
men,  are  such  as  are  naturally  endued  with  a  very  small  share  of 
common  sense,  and  have  read  a  great  number  of  books  without 
taste  or  distinction. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  learning,  like  travelling,  and  all  other  methods 
of  improvement,  as  it  finishes  good  sense,  so  it  makes  a  silly  man 
ten  thousand  times  more  insufferable,  by  supplying  variety  of 
matter  to  his  impertinence,  and  giving  him  an  opportunity  of 
abounding  in  absurdities. 

Shallow  pedants  cry  up  one  another  much  more  than  men  of 
solid  and  useful  learning.  To  read  the  titles  they  give  an  editor, 
or  collator  of  a  manuscript,  you  would  take  him  for  the  glory  of 
the  commonwealth  of  letters,  and  the  wonder  of  his  age  ;  when 
perhaps,  upon  examination,  you  find  that  he  has  only  rectified  a 
Greek  particle,  or  laid  out  a  whole  sentence  in  proper  commas. 

They  are  obliged,  indeed,  to  be  thus  lavish  of  their  praises, 
that  they  may  keep  one  another  in  countenance ;  and  it  is  no  won- 
der if  a  great  deal  of  knowledge,  which  is  not  capable  of  making 
a  man  wise,  has  a  natural  tendency  to  make  him  vain  and  arro- 
gant. L. 

1  A  newspaper  so  called  from  gazette,  the  name  of  a  piece  of  current 
money  which  was  the  original  price  at  which  it  was  originally  sold. — C. 


No.  106.1 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  OR,  . 


28^ 


No.  106.   MONDAY,  JULY  2 

 Hinc  tibi  copia 

Manabit  ad  plenum  benigno 
Kuris  honorura  opulenta  cornu. 

HoR.  1  Od.  xvii.  14. 

 Here  to  thee  shall  plenty  flow, 

And  all  her  riches  show, 
To  raise  the  honour  of  the  quiet  plain. 

Creech. 

Having  often  received  an  invitation  from  my  friend  Sir  Ro- 
ger de  Coverley  to  pass  away  a  month  with  him  in  the  country,'* 
I  last  week  accompanied  him  thither,  and  am  settled  with  him  for 
some  time  at  his  country-house,  where  I  intend  to  form  several  of 
my  ensuing  speculations.  Sir  Roger,  who  is  very  well  acquaint- 
ed with  my  humour,  lets  me  rise  and  go  to  bed  when  I  please  ; 
dine  at  his  own  table,  or  in  my  chamber,  as  I  think  fit ;  sit  still, 
and  say  nothing,  without  bidding  me  be  merry.  When  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  country  come  to  see  him,  he  only  shews  me  at  a 
distance.  As  I  have  been  walking  in  the  fields,  I  have  observed 
them  stealing  a  sight  of  me  over  an  hedge,  and  have  heard  the 
knight  desiring  them  not  to  let  me  see  them,  for  that  I  hated  to 
be  stared  at. 

I  am  the  more  at  ease  in  Sir  Roger's  family,  because  it  consists 
of  sober  and  staid  persons ;  for  as  the  knight  is  the  best  master 
in  the  world,  he  seldom  changes  his  servants ;  and  as  he  is  belov- 
ed by  all  about  him,  his  servants  never  care  for  leaving  him  :  by 
this  means  his  domestics  are  all  in  years,  and  grown  old  with 
their  master.    You  would  take  his  valet  de  chambre  for  his 

*  These  papers  from  the  country  abound  in  beauties  of  all  sorts,  and 
among  others,  are  remarkable  for  the  utmost  purity  and  grace  of  exi^-e-s- 
sion.  The  character  of  his  knight,  is  a  master-piece,  in  its  kind,  and,  only 
equalled  (for,  I  think,  it  is  not  excelled)  by  that  of  Falstaff  in  Shakespeare. 
The  comic  genius  of  the  author  no  where  shines  out  to  more  advantage 
tban  in  this  instance. — IT. 


S88 


SPIilCTATOR 


[No.  lor«. 


brother:  his  butler  is  gray-headed;  his  groom  is  one  of  the 
gravest  men  that  I  have  ever  seen;  and  his  coachman  has  the 
looks  of  a  privy-counsellor.  You  see  the  goodness  of  the  master 
even  in  the  old  house-dog  ;  and  in  a  gray  pad,  that  is  kept  in  the 
stable  with  great  care  and  tenderness  out  of  regard  for  his  past 
services,  though  he  has  been  useless  for  several  years. 

I  could  not  but  observe  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  the  joy 
that  appeared  in  the  countenances  of  these  ancient  domestics 
upon  my  friend's  arrival  at  his  country-seat.  Some  of  them 
could  not  refrain  from  tears  at  the  sight  of  their  old  master ; 
every  one  of  them  pressed  forward  to  do  something  for  him,  and 
seemed  discouraged  if  they  were  not  employed.  At  the  same 
time  the  good  old  knight,  with  a  mixture  of  the  father  and  the 
master  of  the  family,  tempered  the  inquiries  after  his  own  af- 
fairs with  several  kind  questions  relating  to  themselves.  This 
humanity  and  good-nature  engages  every  body  to  him,  so  that 
when  he  is  pleasant  upon  any  of  them,  all  his  family  are  in  good 
humour,  and  none  so  much  as  the  person  whom  he  diverts  him- 
self with  :  on  the  contrary,  if  he  coughs,  or  betrays  any  infirmity 
of  old  age,  it  is  easy  for  a  stander-by  to  observe  a  secret  concern 
in  the  looks  of  all  his  servants. 

My  worthy  friend  has  put  me  under  the  particular  care  of  his 
butler,  who  is  a  very  prudent  man,  and,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  his 
fellow-servants,  wonderfully  desirous  of  pleasing  me,  because 
they  have  often  heard  their  master  talk  of  me  as  of  his  particular 
friend. 

My  chief  companion,  when  Sir  Roger  is  diverting  himself  in 
the  woods  or  the  fields,  is  a  very  venerable  man,  who  is  ever 
with  Sir  Roger,  and  has  lived  at  his  house  in  the  nature"  of  a 
chaplain  above  thirty  years.    This  gentleman  is  a  person  of  good 

''The  word,  nature \s  used  here  a  little  licentiouslv.  He  should 
have  said  *'  in  the  office"  or,  "  the  q^iality  of  a  chaplain." — H. 


No.  106.] 


SPECTATOR. 


289 


sense,  and  some  learning,  of  a  very  regular  life,  and  obliging 
conversation  :  he  heartily  loves  Sir  Roger,  and  knows  that  he  is 
very  much  in  the  old  knight's  esteem  ;  so  that  he  lives  in  the 
family  rather  as  a  relation  than  a  dependant. 

I  have  observed  in  several  of  my  papers,  that  my  friend  Sir 
Roger,  amidst  all  his  good  qualities,  is  something  of  an  humourist : 
and  that  his  virtues,  as  well  as  imperfections,  are,  as  it  were, 
tinged  by  a  certain  extravagance,  which  makes  them  particularly 
his,  and  distinguishes  them  from  those  of  other  men.  This  cast 
of  mind,  as  it  is  generally  very  innocent  in  itself,  so  it  renders 
his  conversation  highly  agreeable,  and  more  delightful  than  the 
same  degree  of  sense  and  virtue  would  appear  in  their  common 
and  ordinary  colours.  As  I  was  walking  v^ith  him  last  night,  he 
asked  me  how  I  liked  the  good  man  whom  I  have  just  now  men- 
tioned ;  and,  without  staying  for  my  answer,  told  me,  that  he 
was  afraid  of  being  insulted  with  Latin  and  Greek  at  his  own 
table, ^  for  which  reason  he  desired  a  particular  friend  of  his  at 

1  The  literary  acquirements  of  the  squireantiy  of  Sir  Roger's  era 
were  few.  At  a  time  not  long  antecedent,  ''an  esquire  passed  for 
a  great  scholar  of  Hudibras,  and  Baker's  Chronicle,  Tarleton's  Jests, 
and  the  Seven  Champions  of  Christendom  lay  in  his  hall  window  among 
angling  and  fishing-lines."  *  But  that  Sir  Roger  may  appear  in  this,  as  in 
other  respects,  above  the  average  of  his  order,  there  is  in  Coverley  Hall  a 
library  rich  in  "  divinity  and  MS.  household  receipts."  Sir  Roger  too  had 
drawn  many  observations  together  out  of  his  reading  in  Baker's  Chronicle, 
and  other  authors  "  who  always  lie  in  his  hall  window and,  however 
limited  his  own  classic  lore,  it  is  certain  that  both  in  love  and  friendship  he 
displayed  strong  literary  sympathies.  The  perverse  widow,  whose  cruelty 
darkened  his  whole  existence,  was  a  "  reading  lady,"  a  "  desperate  scho- 
lar," and  in  argument  "as  learned  as  the  best  philosopher  in  Europe." 
One  who,  when  in  the  country,  *'  does  not  run  into  diaries,  but  reads  upon 
the  nature  of  plants — has  a  glass  hive  and  comes  into  the  garden  out  of 
books  to  see  them  work."  In  his  friendship,  again.  Sir  Roger  was  all  for 
learning.  Besides  the  "Spectator" — to  whom  he  eventually  bequeathed 
his  books, — he  indulged  a  Platonic  admiration  for  Leonora,  a  widow,  for- 

*  Macaulay's  History  of  England. 

VOL.    Vv — 13 


290 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  106 


the  University,  to  find  him  out  a  clergyman  rather  of  plain  sense 
than  much  learning,  of  a  good  aspect,  a  clear  voice,  a  sociable 
temper,  and,  if  possible,  a  man  that  understood  a  little  of  back- 
gammon. My  friend  (says  Sir  Roger)  found  me  out  this  gentle- 
man, who,  besides  the  endowments  required  of  him,  is,  they  tell 
me,  a  good  scholar,  though  he  does  not  shew  it.  I  have  given 
him  the  parsonage  of  the  parish ;  and  because  I  know  his  value, 
have  settled  upon  him  a  good  annuity  for  life.  If  he  outlives 
me,  he  shall  find  that  he  was  higher  in  my  esteem  than  perhaps 
he  thinks  he  is.  He  has  now  been  with  me  thirty  years;  and, 
though  he  does  not  know  I  have  taken  notice  of  it,  has  never  in  all 
that  time  asked  any  thing  of  me  for  himself,  though  he  is  every 
day  soliciting  me  for  something  in  behalf  of  one  or  other  of  my 
tenants,  his  parishioners.  There  has  not  been  a  lawsuit  in  the 
parish  since  he  has  lived  among  them  :  if  any  dispute  arises, 
they  apply  themselves  to  him  for  the  decision;  if  they  do  not 
acquiesce  in  his  judgment,  which  I  think  never  happened  above 
once,  or  twice  at  most,  they  appeal  to  me.  At  his  first  settling 
with  me,  I  made  him  a  present  of  all  the  good  sermons  which 
have  been  printed  in  English,  and  only  begged  of  him  that  every 
Sunday  he  would  pronounce  one  of  them  in  the  pulpit.  Accord- 
ingly, he  has  digested  them  into  such  a  series,  that  they  follow 
one  another  naturally,  and  make  a  continued  system  of  practical 
divinity. 

As  Sir  Roger  was  going  on  in  his  story,  the  gentleman  we 
were  talking  of  came  up  to  us  :  and  upon  the  knight's  asking  him 
who  preached  to-morrow,  (for  it  was  Saturday  night,)  told  us,  the 
Bishop  of  St.  Asaph '  in  the  morning,  and  Dr.  South  in  the  after- 

merly  a  celebrated  beauty,  and  still  a  very  lovely  woman — who  ''turnevi 
all  the  passion  of  her  sex  into  a  love  of  books  and  retirement." — * 

*  Doctor  William  Fleetwood,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Ely,  who  is  also 
mentioned  in  No.  384. — C. 


Ko.  108.] 


SPECTATOR. 


291 


noon.  He  then  shewed  us  his  list  of  preachers  for  the  whole 
year,  where  I  saw  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  Archbishop  Til- 
lotson,  Bishop  Saunderson,  Doctor  Barrow,  Doctor  Calamy,  with 
several  living  authors  who  have  published  discourses  of  practical 
divinity.  I  no  sooner  saw  this  venerable  man  in  the  pulpit,  but 
I  very  much  approved  of  my  friend's  insisting  upon  the  qualifi- 
cations of  a  good  aspect  and  a  clear  voice ;  for  I  was  so  charmed 
with  the  gracefulness  of  his  figure  and  delivery,  as  well  as  the 
discourses  he  pronounced,  that  I  think  I  never  passed  any  time 
more  to  my  satisfaction.  A  sermon  repeated  after  this  manner, 
is  like  the  composition  of  a  poet  in  the  mouth  of  a  graceful  actor. 

I  could  heartily  wish  that  more  of  our  country  clergy  v/ould 
follow  this  example ;  and,  instead  of  wasting  their  spirits  in  labo- 
rious compositions  of  their  own,  would  endeavour  after  a  hand- 
some elocution,  and  all  those  other  talents  that  are  proper  to  en- 
force what  has  been  penned  by  greater  masters.  This  would 
not  only  be  more  easy  to  themselves,  but  more  edifying  to  the 
people.  L. 


No.  108.    WEDNESDAY,  JULY  4. 

Gratis  anhelans,  multa  agendo  nihil  agens. 

TiiJED.  Fab.  V.  2. 
Out  of  breath  to  no  purpose,  and  very  busy  about  nothing. 

As  I  was  yesterday  morning  walking  with  Sir  Boger  before 
his  house,  a  country  fellow  brought  him  a  huge  fish,  which  he 
told  him,  Mr.  William  "Wimble  ^  had  caught  that  very  morning ; 

1  This  delineation,  like  the  rest  of  the  "  Spectator's  "  prominent  charac- 
ters, is  too  like  life  to  have  escaped  the  imputation  of  having  been  drawn 
from  it.    The  received  story  is  that  Will  Wimble  was  a  Mr.  Thomas  More- 


292 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  108. 


and  that  he  presented  it  with  his  service  to  him,  and  intended  to 
come  and  dine  with  him.  At  the  same  time  he  delivered  a  letter, 
which  my  friend  read  to  me  as  soon  as  the  messenger  left  him. 

Sir  Eoger, 

I  DESIRE  you  to  accept  of  a  Jack,  which  is  the  best  I  have 
caught  this  season.  I  intend  to  come  and  stay  with  you  a  week, 
and  see  how  the  Perch  bite  in  the  Black- R-iver.  I  observed  with 
some  concern,  the  last  time  I  saw  you  upon  the  Bowling-green, 
that  your  whip  wanted  a  lash  to  it :  I  will  bring  half  a  dozen 
with  me  that  I  twisted  last  week,  which  I  hope  will  serve  you  all 
the  time  you  are  in  the  country.  I  have  not  been  out  of  the 
saddle  for  six  days  last  past,  having  been  at  Eaton  with  Sir 
John's  eldest  son.    He  takes  to  his  learning  hugely. 

"  I  am.  Sir,  your  humble  Servant, 

''Will.  Wimble." 

This  extraordinary  letter,  and  message  that  accompanied  it, 

cmft,  younger  sou  of  a  Yorkshire  baroiiet,  whom  Steele  knew  in  early 
rife,  and  introduced  to  xYddison,  by  whose  bounty  he  was  for  some  time 
supported.  Though  excelling  in  such  small  and  profitless  arts  as  are  attri- 
buted to  Will  Wimble,  Mr.  Morecraft  had  not  the  ingenuity  to  gain  his 
own  livelihood.  When  Addison  died,  he  went  to  Ireland  to  his  friend  the 
Bishop  of  Kildare,  at  whose  house  in  Fish  Street,  Dublin,  he  died  in  1741. 

The  attentive  reader  of  the  "Tatler"  will  find  in  it  the  germ  of  many 
of  the  characters  in  the  "Spectator  " — an  additional  argument  against  their 
having  been  drawn  from  actual  individuals.  The  honourable  Mr.  Thomas 
Gules,  who  indicted  Peter  Plum  in  the  Court  of  Honour  for  taking  the  wall 
of  him  (Tatler,  No.  256),  will  at  once  be  recognised  as  the  prototype  of 
Will  Wimble.  "The  prosecutor  alleged  that  he  was  the  cadet  of  a  very 
ancient  family ;  and  that,  according  to  the  principles  of  all  the  younger 
brothers  of  the  said  family,  he  had  never  sullied  himself  with  business; 
but  had  chosen  rather  to  starve  like  a  man  of  honour,  than  do  anything 
beneath  his  quality.  He  produced  several  witnesses  that  he  had  never 
employed  himself  beyond  the  twisting  of  a  whip,  or  the  making  of  a  pair 
of  nutcrackers,  in  which  he  only  worked  for  his  diversion,  in  order  to  make 
a  present  now  and  then  to  his  friends." — * 


No.  108.] 


SPECTATOR. 


293 


made  me  very  curious  to  know  the  character  and  quality  of  the 
gentleman  who  sent  them ;  which  I  found  to  be  as  follows.  Will 
Wimble  is  younger  brother  to  a  baronet,  and  descended  of  the 
ancient  family  of  the  Wimbles.  He  is  now  between  forty  and 
fifty ;  but  being  bred  to  no  business,  and  born  to  no  estate,  he 
generally  lives  with  his  elder  brother  as  superintendant  of  his 
game.  He  hunts  a  pack  of  dogs  better  than  any  man  in  the 
country,  and  is  very  famous  for  finding  out""  a  hare.  He  is  ex- 
tremely well  versed  in  all  the  little  handicrafts  of  an  idle  man  : 
he  makes  a  May-fly  to  a  miracle  ;  and  furnishes  the  whole  country 
with  angle-rods.  As  he  is  a  good-natured  officious  fellow,  and 
very  much  esteemed  upon  account  of  his  family,  he  is  a  welcome 
guest  at  every  house,  and  keeps  up  a  good  correspondence  among 
all  the  gentlemen  about  him.  He  carries  a  tulip  root  in  his 
pocket  from  one  to  another,  or  exchanges  a  puppy  between  a 
couple  of  friends  that  live  perhaps  in  the  opposite  sides  of  the 
county.  Will  is  a  particular  favourite  of  all  the  young  heirs, 
whom  he  frequently  obliges  with  a  net  that  he  has  weaved,  or  a 
setting-dog  that  he  has  made  himself :  he  now  and  then  presents 
a  pair  of  garters  of  his  own  knitting  to  their  mothers  or  sisters; 
and  raises  a  great  deal  of  mirth  among  them,  by  inquiring  as  often 
as  he  meets  them, '  how  they  wear  ?  '  These  gentleman-like  man- 
ufactures, and  obliging  little  humours,  make  Will  the  darling  of 
the  country. 

Sir  Roger  was  proceeding  in  the  character  of  him,  when  he 
saw  him  make  up  to  us  with  two  or  three  hazel-twigs  in  his  hand, 
that  he  had  cut  in  Sir  Roger's  woods,  as  he  came  through  them 
in  his  way  to  the  house.  I  was  very  much  pleased  to  observe  on 
one  side  the  hearty  and  sincere  welcome  with  which  Sir  Roger 
received  him,  and  on  the  other,  the  secret  joy  which  his  guest 

*  "  Finding  out " — the  technical  phrase  had  been  better — ^'finding  a 
hare.'''' — H. 


294 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  108. 


discovered  at  sight  of  the  good  old  knight.  After  the  first  sa- 
lutes were  over,  Will  desired  Sir  Roger  to  lend  him  one  of  his  ser- 
vants to  carry  a  set  of  shuttle-cocks,  he  had  with  him  in  a  little 
box,  to  a  lady  that  lived  about  a  mile  off,  to  whom  it  seems  he 
had  promised  such  a  present  for  above  this  half  year.  Sir  Ro- 
ger's back  was  no  sooner  turned,  but  honest  Will  began  to  tell 
me  of  a  large  cock  pheasant  that  he  had  sprung  in  one  of  the 
neighbouring  woods,  with  two  or  three  other  adventures  of  the 
same  nature.  Odd  and  uncommon  characters  are  the  game  that 
I  look  for,  and  most  delight  in ;  for  which  reason  I  was  as  much 
pleased  with  the  novelty  of  the  person  that  talked  to  me,  as  he 
could  be  for  his  life  with  the  springing  of  a  pheasant,  and  there- 
fore listened  to  him  with  more  than  ordinary  attention. 

In  the  midst  of  his  discourse  the  bell  rung  to  dinner,  where 
the  gentleman  I  have  been  speaking  of  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
the  huge  Jack,  he  had  caught,  served  up  for  the  first  dish  in  a 
most  sumptuous  manner.  Upon  our  sitting  down  to  it,  he  gave 
us  a  long  account  how  he  had  hooked  it,  played  with  it,  foiled  it, 
and  at  length  drew  it  out  upon  the  bank,  with  several  other  par- 
ticulars, that  lasted  all  the  first  course.  A  dish  of  wild-fowl,  that 
came  afterwards,  furnished  conversation  for  the  rest  of  the  dinner, 
which  concluded  with  a  late  invention  of  Will's  for  improving  the 
quail-pipe. 

Upon  withdrawing  into  my  room  after  dinner,  I  was  secretly 
touched  with  compassion  towards  the  honest  gentleman  that  had 
dined  with  us ;  and  could  not  but  consider  with  a  great  deal  of 
concern,  how  so  good  an  heart,  and  such  busy  hands,  were  wholly 
employed  in  trifles ;  that  so  much  humanity  should  be  so  little 
beneficial  to  others,  and  so  much  industry  so  little  advantageous 
to  himself.  The  same  temper  of  mind,  and  application  to  affairs, 
might  have  recommended  him  to  the  public  esteem,  and  have 
raised  his  fortune  in  another  station  of  life.    What  good  to  his 


No.  no.] 


SPECTATOR. 


295 


country  or  himself,  might  not  a  trader  or  merchant  have  done 
with  such  useful  though  ordinary  qualifications  ? 

Will  Wimble's  is  the  case  of  many  a  younger  brother  of  a 
great  family,  who  had  rather  see  their  children  starve  like  gentle- 
men, than  thrive  in  a  trade  or  profession  that  is  beneath  their 
quality.  This  humour  fills  several  parts  of  Europe  with  pride 
and  beggary.  It  is  the  happiness  of  a  trading  nation,  like  ours, 
that  the  younger  sons,  though  incapable  of  any  liberal  art  or 
profession,  may  be  placed  in  such  a  way  of  life,  as  may  perhaps 
enable  them  to  vie  with  the  best  of  their  family  :  accordingly  we 
find  several  citizens  that  were  launched  into  the  world  with  nar- 
row fortunes,  rising  by  an  honest  industry  to  greater  estates  than 
those  of  their  elder  brothers.  It  is  not  improbable  but  Will  was 
formerly  tried  at  divinity,  law,  or  physic ;  and  that  finding  his 
genius  did  not  lie  that  way,  his  parents  gave  him  up  at  length  to 
his  own  inventions.  But  certainly,  however  improper  he  might 
have  been  for  studies  of  a  higher  nature,  he  was  perfectly  well 
turned  for  the  occupations  of  trade  and  commerce.  As  I  think 
this  is  a  point  which  cannot  be  too  much  inculcated,  I  shall  desire 
my  reader  to  compare  what  I  have  here  written  with  what  I  have 
said  in  my  twenty-first  speculation.  L, 


No.  110.    FEIDAY,  JULY  6. 

Horror  ubique  animos,  simul  ipsa  silentia  terrent. 

YiKG.  J^a.  ir.  755. 
All  things  are  fall  of  horror  and  affright, 
And  dreadful  ev'n  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Dryden. 


At  a  little  distance  from  Sir  Hoger's  house,  among  the  ruins 
of  an  old  abbey,  there  is  a  long  walk  of  aged  elms ;  which  are 


296 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  na 


shot  up  so  very  liigh,  that  when  one  passes  under  them,  the  rocks 
and  crows  that  rest  upon  the  tops  of  them,  seem  to  be  cawing  in 
another  region.  I  am  very  much  delighted  with  this  sort  of 
noise,  which  I  consider  as  a  kind  of  natural  prayer  to  that  Being 
w^ho  supplies  the  wants  of  his  whole  creation,  and  who,  in  the 
beautiful  language  of  the  Psalms,  feedeth  the  young  ravens  that 
call  upon  him.^  I  like  this  retirement  the  better,  because  of  an 
ill  report  it  lies  under  of  being  haunted  ;  for  which  reason  (as  I 
have  been  told  in  the  family)  no  living  creature  ever  walks  in  it 
besides  the  chaplain.  My  good  friend  the  butler  desired  me,  with 
a  very  grave  face,  not  to  venture  myself  in  it  after  sun-set,  for 
that  one  of  the  footmen  had  been  almost  frightened  out  of  his 
wits  by  a  spirit  that  appeared  to  him  in  the  shape  of  a  black 
horse  without  an  head ;  to  which  he  added,  that  about  a  month 
ago  one  of  the  maids  coming  home  late  that  way  with  a  pail  of 
milk  upon  her  head,  heard  such  a  rustling  among  the  bushes  that 
she  let  it  fall. 

I  was  taking  a  walk  in  this  place  last  night  between  the  hours 
of  nine  and  ten,  and  could  not  but  fancy  it  one  of  the  most  pro- 
per scenes  in  the  world  for  a  ghost  to  appear  in.  The  ruins  of 
the  abbey  are  scattered  up  and  down  on  every  side,  and  half 
covered  with  ivy  and  elder  bushes,  the  harbours  of  several  soli- 
tary birds,  which  seldom  make  their  appearance  till  the  dusk  of 
the  evening.  The  place  was  formerly  a  church-yard,  and  has 
still  several  marks  in  it  of  graves  and  burying-places.  There  is 
such  an  echo  among  the  old  ruins  and  vaults,  that  if  you  stamp 
but  a  little  louder  than  ordinary,  you  hear  the  sound  repeated. 
At  the  same  time  the  walk  of  elms,  with  the  croaking  of  the 
ravens,  which  from  time  to  time  are  heard  from  the  tops  of  them, 
looks  exceeding  solemn  and  venerable.  These  objects  naturally 
raise  seriousness  and  attention  :  and  vvhen  night  heightens  the 
1  TV.  0x1  vii.  9. 


No.  110.] 


SPECTATOR. 


297 


awfulness  of  the  place,  and  pours  out  her  supernumerary  horrors 
upon  every  thing  in  it,  I  do  not  at  all  wonder  that  weak  minds 
fill  it  with  spectres  and  apparitions. 

Mr.  Locke,  in  his  chapter  of  the  association  of  ideas,^  has  very 
curious  remarks  to  shew  how  by  the  prejudice  of  education  one 
idea  often  introduces  into  the  mind  a  whole  set  that  bear  no  re- 
semblance to  one  another  in  the  nature  of  things.  Among  several 
examples  of  this  kind,  he  produces  the  following  instance.  '  The 
ideas  of  goblins  and  sprights  have  really  no  more  to  do  with  dark- 
ness than  light :  yet  let  but  a  foolish  maid  inculcate  these  often 
on  the  mind  of  a  child,  and  raise  them  there  together,  possibly  he 
shall  never  be  able  to  separate  them  again  so  long  as  he  lives  ; 
but  darkness  shall  ever  afterward  bring  with  it  those  frightful 
ideas,  and  they  shall  be  so  joined,  that  he  can  no  more  bear  the 
one  than  the  other.' 

As  I  was  walking  in  this  solitude,  where  the  dusk  of  the 
evening  conspired  with  so  many  other  occasions  of  terror,  I  ob- 
served a  cow  grazing  not  far  from  me,  which  an  imagination  that  is 
apt  to  startle  might  easily  have  construed  into  a  black  horse 
without  an  head  :  and  I  dare  say  the  poor  footman  lost  his  wits 
upon  some  such  trivial  occasion. 

My  friend  Sir  Roger  has  often  told  me  with  a  great  deal  of 
mirth,  that  at  his  first  coming  to  his  estate,  he  found  three  parts 
of  his  house  altogether  useless  ;  that  the  best  room  in  it  had  the 
reputation  of  being  haunted,  and  by  that  means was  locked  up  ; 
that  noises  had  been  heard  in  his  long  gallery,  so  that  he  could 
not  get  a  servant  to  enter  it  after  eight  o'clock  at  night ;  that  the 
door  of  one  of  his  chambers  was  nailed  up,  because  there  went  a 

1  V.  Essay,  B.  11.  c.  33,  sect.  10.  Addison  seems  to  have  made  a 
profound  study  of  Locke  and  generally  adopted  his  doctrines. — G. 

*  By  that  mea/ics.    Rather,     07i  that  accoiMitJ^—U, 
VOL.    v. — 13* 


298 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  110. 


story  in  the  family,  that  a  butler  had  formerly  hanged  himself  in 
it ;  and  that  his  mother,  who  lived  to  a  great  age,  had  shut  up 
half  the  rooms  in  the  house,  in  which  either  a  husband,  a  son  or 
daughter,  had  died.  The  knight  seeing  his  habitation  reduced  to 
so  small  a  compass,  and  himself  in  a  manner  shut  out  of  his  own 
house,  upon  the  death  of  his  mother  ordered  all  the  apartments 
to  be  flung  open,  and  exorcised  by  his  chaplain,  who  lay  in  every 
room  one  after  another,  and  by  that  means  dissipated  the  fears 
which  had  so  long  reigned  in  the  family. 

I  should  not  have  been  thus  particular  upon  these  ridiculous 
horrors,  did  not  I  find  them  so  very  much  prevail  in  all  parts  of 
the  country.  At  the  same  time  I  think  a  person  who  is  thus 
terrified  with  the  imagination  of  ghosts  and  spectres  much  more 
reasonable,  than  one  who,  contrary  to  the  reports  of  all  historians, 
sacred  and  profane,  ancient  and  modern,  and  to  the  traditions  of 
all  nations,  thinks  the  appearance  of  spirits  fabulous  and  groundless." 
Could  not  I  give  myself  up  to  this  general  testimony  of  mankind,  I 
should  to  the  relations  of  particular  persons  who  are  now  living, 
and  whom  I  cannot  distrust  in  other  matters  of  fact.  I  might 
here  add.  that  not  only  the  historians,  to  whom  we  may  join  the 
poets,  but  likewise  the  philosophers  of  antiquity  have  favoured 
this  opinion.  Lucretius  himself,  though  by  the  course  of  his 
philosophy  he  was  obliged  to  maintain  that  the  soul  did  not  exist 
separate  from  the  body,  makes  no  doubt  of  the  reality  of  appari- 
tions, and  that  men  have  often  appeared  after  their  death.  This 
I  think  very  remarkable  ;  he  was  so  pressed  with  the  matter  of 
fact  which  he  could  not  have  the  confidence  to  deny,  that  he  was 
forced  to  account  for  it  by  one  of  the  most  absurd  unphilosophi- 
cal  notions  that  was  ever  started.  He  tells  us,  '  that  the  surfaces 
of  all  the  bodies  are  perpetually  flying  ofl"  from  their  respective 

"  What  credulity,  it  will  be  said,  in  our  good  Spectator  !  but  let  the 
censurer  read  on  to  the  end  of  the  paper. — H. 


No.  110.] 


SPECTATOR. 


299 


bodies,  one  after  another  ;  and  that  these  surfaces  or  thin  cases  that 
included  each  other  whilst  they  were  joined  in  the  body  like  the 
coats  of  an  onion,  are  sometimes  seen  entire  when  they  are  sepa- 
rated from  it ;  by  which  means  we  often  behold  the  shapes  and 
shadows  of  persons  who  are  either  dead  or  absent.'  ^ 

I  shall  dismiss  this  paper  with  a  story  out  of  Josephus,'^  not 
so  much  for  the  sake  of  the  story  itself,  as  for  the  moral  reflec- 
tions with  which  the  author  concludes  it,  and  which  I  shall  here 
set  down  in  his  own  words.  "  Glaphyra,  the  daughter  of  King 
Archilaus,  after  the  death  of  her  two  first  husbands  (being  married 
to  a  third,  who  was  brother  to  her  first  husband,  and  so  passionately 
in  love  with  her  that  he  turned  off  his  former  wife  to  make  room 
for  this  marriage)  had  a  very  odd  kind  of  dream.  She  fancied 
that  she  saw  her  first  husband  coming  towards  her,  and  that  she 
embraced  him  with  great  tenderness ;  when,  in  the  midst  of  the 
pleasure  which  she  expressed  at  the  sight  of  him,  he  reproached 
her  after  the  following  manner  :  Glaphyra,  says  he,  thou  hast 
made  good  the  old  saying,  that  women  are  not  to  be  trusted. 
Was  not  I  the  husband  of  thy  virginity  ?  Have  I  not  children 
by  thee  ?  How  couldst  thou  forget  our  loves  so  far  as  to  enter 
into  a  second  marriage,  and  after  that  into  a  third ;  nay,  to  take 
for  thy  husband  a  man  who  has  so  shamelessly  crept  into  the  bed 
of  his  brother  ?  However,  for  the  sake  of  our  passed  loves,  I 
shall  free  thee  from  thy  present  reproach,  and  make  thee  mine 
for  ever.  Glaphyra  told  this  dream  to  several  women  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, and  died  soon  after.  I  thought  this  story  might  not 
be  impertinent  in  this  place,  wherein  I  speak  of  those  kings  :  be- 
sides that,  the  example  deserves  to  be  taken  notice  of,  as  it  con- 
tains a  most  certain  proof  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  of 

^  Lucretius  de  iiatura  rerum.       84. — C. 
Ant.  Jud,  lib.  xvii.  cap.  xv,  sec.  4,  5. — C 


300  "    SPECTATOR.  [No.  111. 

divine  providence.  If  any  man  thinks  these  facts  incredible,  let 
him  enjoy  his  opinion  to  himself ;  but  let  him  not  endeavour  to 
disturb  the  belief  of  others,  who  by  instances  of  this  nature  are 
excited  to  the  study  of  virtue."  L 


No.  111.    SATURDAY,  JULY  7. 

 Inter  silvas  Academi  qua^rere  verum. 

HoR.  II.  Ep.  2.45. 

To  search  for  truth  in  academic  groves. 

The  course  of  my  last  speculation  led  me  insensibly  into  a 
subject  upon  which  I  always  meditate  with  great  delight ;  I  mean 
the  immortality  of  the  soul.  I  was  yesterday  walking  alone  in 
one  of  my  friend's  woods,  and  lost  myself  in  it  very  agreeably, 
as  I  was  running  over  in  my  mind  the  several  arguments  that  es- 
tablish this  great  point,  which  is  the  basis  of  morality,  and  the 
source  of  all  the  pleasing  hopes  and  secret  joys  that  can  arise  in 
the  heart  of  a  reasonable  creature.  I  consider  those  several 
proofs  drawn  : 

First,  From  the  nature  of  the  soul  itself,  and  particularly 
its  immateriality  ;  which  though  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
eternity  of  its  duration,  has,  I  think,  been  evinced  to  almost  a 
demonstration. 

Secondly,  From  its  passions  and  sentiments,  as  particularly 
from  its  love  of  existence,  its  horror  of  annihilation,  and  its 
hopes  of  immortality,  with  that  secret  satisfaction  which  it  finds 
in  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  that  uneasiness  which  follows  in  it 
upon  the  commission  of  vice. 

Thirdly,  From  the  nature  of  the  Supreme  Being,  whose  jus- 


No.  111.] 


SPECTATOR. 


301 


tice,  goodness,  wisdom,  and  veracity,  are  all  concerned  in  this 
great  point. 

But  among  these  and  other  excellent  arguments  for  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  there  is  one  drawn  from  the  perpetual  pro- 
gress of  the  soul  to  its  perfection,  without  a  possibility  of  ever 
arriving  at  it;  which  is  a  hint  that  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  opened  and  improved  by  others  who  have  written  on  this 
subject,  though  it  seems  to  me  to  carry  a  great  weight  with  it. 
How  can  it  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  man,  that  the  soul,  which 
is  capable  of  such  immense  perfections,  and  of  receiving  new  im- 
provements to  all  eternity,  shall  fall  away  into  nothing  almost  as 
soon  as  it  is  created  ?  Are  such  abilities  made  for  no  purpose  ? 
A  brute  arrives  at  a  point  of  perfection  that  he  can  never  pass  : 
in  a  few  years  he  has  all  the  endowments  he  is  capable  of ;  and 
were  he  to  live  ten  thousand  more,  would  be  the  same  thing  he  is 
at  present.  AVere  a  human  soul  thus  at  a  stand  in  her  accom- 
plishments, were  her  faculties  to  be  full  blown,  and  incapable  of 
further  enlargements,  I  could  imagine  it  might  fall  away  insensi- 
bly, and  drop  at  once  into  a  state  of  annihilation.  But  can  we 
believe  a  thinking  being  that  is  in  a  perpetual  progress  of  im- 
provements, and  travelling  on  from  perfection  to  perfection,  after 
having  just  looked  abroad  into  the  works  of  its  Creator,  and 
made  a  few  discoveries  of  his  infinite  goodness,  wisdom  and  pow- 
er, must  perish  at  her  first  setting  out,  and  in  the  very  beginning 
of  her  inquiries  ? 

A  man,  considered  in  his  present  state,  seems  only  sent  into 
the  world  to  propagate  his  kind.  He  provides  himself  with  a 
successor,  and  immediately  quits  his  post  to  make  room  for  him. 

»  See  this  subject  finely  pursued  by  Mr.  Wollaston. — Still,  there  are 
those,  who  will  acknowledge  no  force  in  this  argument.  It  may  be  so. 
But  let  them  keep  their  own  secret.  Assuredly,  I  should  never  esteem  the 
man,  who  told  me  he  was  not  capable  of  being  affected  by  it. — II. 


302 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  111. 


 haeres 

Haeredem  alterius,  velut  unda  supervenit  undam. 

Hon.  II.  Ep.  2,  175. 

 Heir  crowds  heir,  as  in  a  rolling  flood 

"Wave  urges  wave.  Creech. 

He  does  not  seem  born  to  enjoy  life,  but  to  deliver  it  down  to 
others.  This  is  not  surprising  to  consider  in  animals,  which  are 
formed  for  our  use,  and  can  finish  their  business  in  a  short  life. 
The  silk-worm,  after  having  spun  her  task,  lays  her  eggs  and 
dies.  But  a  man  can  never  have  taken  in  his  full  measure  of 
knowledge,  has  not  time  to  subdue  his  passions,  establish  his  soul 
in  virtue,  and  come  up  to  the  perfection  of  his  nature,  before  he 
is  hurried  off  the  stage.  Would  an  infinitely  wise  Being  make 
such  glorious  creatures  for  so  mean  a  purpose  ?  Can  he  delight 
in  the  production  of  such  abortive  intelligences,  such  short-lived 
reasonable  beings  ?  \Yould  he  give  us  talents  that  are  not  to  be 
exerted?  Capacities  that  are  never  to  be  gratified?  How  can 
we  find  that  wisdom,  which  shines  through  all  his  works,  in  the 
formation  of  man,  without  looking  on  this  world  as  only  a  nur- 
sery for  the  next,  and  believing  that  the  several  generations  of 
rational  creatures,  which  rise  up  and  disappear  in  such  quick  suc- 
cession, are  only  to  receive  their  rudiments  of  existence  here,  and 
afterwards  to  be  transplanted  into  a  more  friendly  climate,  where 
they  may  spread  and  flourish  to  all  eternity  ? 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more  pleasing  and  triumphant 
consideration  in  religion,  than  this  of  the  perpetual  progress 
which  the  soul  makes  towards  the  perfection  of  its  nature,  with- 
out ever  arriving  at  a  period  in  it.  To  look  upon  the  soul  as 
going  on  from  strength  to  strength,  to  consider  that  she  is  to 
shine  for  ever  with  new  accessions  of  glory,  and  brighten  to  all 
eternity ;  that  she  will  be  still  adding  virtue  to  virtue,  and 
knowledge  to  knowledge ;  carries  in  it  something  wonderfully 


No.  111.] 


SPECTATOR. 


303 


agreeable  to  that  ambition  which  is  natural  to  the  mind  of  man. 
Nay,  it  must  be  a  prospect  pleasing  to  God  himself,  to  see  his 
creation  for  ever  beautifying  in  his  eyes,  and  drawing  nearer  to 
him,  by  greater  degrees  of  resemblance. 

Methinks  this  single  consideration,  of  the  progress  of  a  finite 
spirit  to  perfection,  will  be  sufficient  to  extinguish  all  envy  in  in- 
ferior natures,  and  all  contempt  in  superior.  That  Cherubim 
which  now  appears  as  a  God  to  a  human  soul,  knows  very  well 
that  the  period  will  come  about  in  eternity,  when  the  human  soul 
shall  be  as  perfect  as  he  himself  now  is  :  nay,  when  she  shall  look 
down  upon  that  degree  of  perfection,  as  much  as  she  now  falls 
short  of  it. "  It  is  true,  the  higher  nature  still  advances,  and  by 
that  means  preserves  his  distance  and  superiority  in  the  scale  of 
being  ;  but  he  knows,  how  high  soever  the  station  is  of  which  he 
stands  possessed  at  present,  the  inferior  nature  will  at  length 
mount  up  to  it,  and  shine  forth  in  the  same  degree  of  glory. 

With  what  astonishment  and  veneration  may  we  look  into  our 
own  souls,  where  there  are  such  hidden  stores  of  virtue  and 
knowledge,  such  inexhausted  sources  of  perfection  ?  We  know 
not  yet  what  we  shall  be,  nor  will  it  ever  enter  into  the  heart  of 
man  to  conceive  the  glory  that  will  be  always  in  reserve  for  him. 
The  soul  considered  with  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of  those  mathe- 
matical lines  that  may  draw  nearer  to  another  to  all  eternity 
without  a  possibility  of  touching  it :  and  can  there  be  a  thought 
so  transporting,  as  to  consider  ourselves  in  these  perpetual  ap- 
proaches to  him,  who  is  not  only  the  standard  of  perfection  but 
"  of  happiness  !  L. 

^  The  two  parts  of  this  sentence  do  not  correspond  to  each  other,  and 
the  comparative  as  much  as,  is  used  improperly.  The  connecting  link 
may  be  supplied  thus — "  When  she  shall  look  down  upon  that  degree  of 
perfection,  and  see  herself  as  much  advanced  above  it^  as  she  now,''  <fec. — H. 


304 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  112. 


No.  112.    MONDAY,  JULY  9. 

A^aydrovs  ix\i/  irpcora  ^€ov^,  vofxto  wy  Sia/ceirai, 
TtjLta  

Prxn. 

First,  in  obedience  to  thy  country's  rites, 
Worship  th'  immortal  gods. 

I  AM  always  very  well  pleased  with  a  country  Sunday ;  and  think, 
if  keeping  holy  the  seventh  day  were  only  a  human  institution,  it 
would  be  the  best  method  that  could  have  been  thought  of  for 
the  polishing  and  civilizing  of  mankind.  It  is  certain  the  coun- 
try-people would  soon  degenerate  into  a  kind  of  savages  and  bar- 
barians, were  there  not  such  frequent  returns  of  a  stated  time,  in 
which  the  whole  village  meet  together  with  their  best  faces,  and 
in  their  cleanliest  habits,  to  converse  with  one  another  upon  in- 
different subjects,  hear  their  duties  explained  to  them,  and  join 
together  in  adoration  of  the  supreme  being.  Sunday  clears  away 
the  rust  of  the  whole  week,  not  only  as  it  refreshes  in  their  minds 
the  notions  of  religion,  but  as  it  puts  both  the  sexes  upon  appear- 
ing in  their  most  agreeable  forms,  and  exerting  all  such  qualities 
as  are  apt  to  give  them  a  figure  in  the  eye  of  the  village.  A 
country-fellow  distinguishes  himself  as  much  in  the  Church-yard, 
as  a  citizen  does  upon  the  Change,  the  whole  parish-politics  being 
generally  discussed  in  that  place  either  after  sermon  or  before 
the  bell  rings. 

My  friend  Sir  Roger  being  a  good  church-man,  has  beautified 
the  inside  of  his  church  with  several  texts  of  his  own  chusing : 
he  has  likewise  given  a  handsome  pulpit-cloth,  and  railed  in  the 
communion-table  at  his  own  expense.  He  has  often  told  me, 
that  at  his  coming  to  his  estate  he  found  his  parishioners  very 
irregular ;  and  that  in  order  to  make  them  kneel  and  join  in  the 
responses,  he  gave  every  one  of  them  a  hassoc  and  a  common- 


]S"o.  112.] 


SPECTATOR. 


305 


prayer-book ;  and  at  the  same  time  employed  an  itinerant  sing- 
ing-master, who  goes  about  the  country  for  that  purpose,  to  in- 
struct them  rightly  in  the  tunes  of  the  psalms ;  upon  which  they 
now  very  much  value  themselves,  and  indeed  out-do  most  of  the 
country  churches  that  I  have  ever  heard. 

As  Sir  Eoger  is  landlord  to  the  w^hole  congregation,  he  keeps 
them  in  very  good  order,  and  wdll  suffer  nobody  to  sleep  in  it 
besides  himself ;  for  if  by  chance  he  has  been  surprised  into  a 
short  nap  at  sermon,  upon  recovering  out  of  it  he  stands  up  and 
looks  about  him,  and  if  he  sees  any  body  else  nodding,  either 
wakes  them  himself,  or  sends  his  servant  to  them.  Several 
other  of  the  old  knight's  particularities  break  out  upon  these  oc- 
casions :  sometimes  he  will  be  lengthening  out  a  verse  in  the 
singing-psalms,  half  a  minute  after  the  rest  of  the  congregation 
have  done  with  it ;  sometimes,  when  he  is  pleased  with  the  matter 
of  his  devotion,  he  pronounces  Amen  three  or  four  times  to  the 
same  prayer  ;  and  sometimes  stands  up  when  every  body  else  is 
upon  their  knees,  to  count  the  congregation,  or  see  if  any  of  his 
tenants  are  missing. 

I  was  yesterday  very  much  surprised  to  hear  my  old  friend 
in  the  midst  of  the  service,  calling  out  to  one  John  MatthcAvs  to 
mind  what  he  was  about,  and  not  disturb  the  congregation.  This 
John  Matthews,  it  seems,  is  remarkable  for  being  an  idle  fellow, 
and  at  that  time  was  kicking  his  heels  for  his  diversion.  This 
authority  of  the  knight,  though  exerted  in  that  odd  manner  which 
accompanies  him  in  all  circumstances  of  life,  has  a  very  good  ef- 
fect upon  the  parish,  who  are  not  polite  enough  to  see  any  thing 
ridiculous  in  his  behaviour  ;  besides  that  the  general  good  sense 
and  worthiness  of  his  character,  make  his  friends  observe  these 
little  singularities  as  foils  that  rather  set  off  than  blemish  his 
good  qualities. 

As  soon  as  the  sermon  is  finished,  nobody  presumes  to  stir 


306 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  112 


till  Sir  Koger  is  gone  out  of  the  church.*  The  knight  walks 
down  from  his  seat  in  the  chancel  between  a  double  row  of  his 
tenants,  that  stand  bowing  to  him  on  each  side  ;  and  every  one 
now  and  then  inquires  how  such  an  one's  wife,  or  mother,  or  son, 
or  father  do,  whom  he  does  not  see  at  church ;  which  is  under- 
stood as  a  secret  reprimand  to  the  person  that  is  absent. 

The  chaplain  has  often  told  me,  that  upon  a  catechising-day, 
when  Sir  Roger  lias  been  pleased  with  a  boy  that  answers  well, 
he  has  ordered  a  bible  to  be  given  him  next  day  for  his  encour- 
agement; and  sometimes  accompanies  it  with  a  flitch  of  bacon 
to  his  mother.  Sir  Roger  has  likewise  added  five  pounds  a  year 
to  the  clerk's  place  ;  and  that  he  may  encourage  the  young  fel- 
lows to  make  themselves  perfect  in  the  church-service,  has  pro- 

■^The  church  close  to  wliich  Addison  was  born  and  where  his  father 
ministered,  may  have  supplied  some  of  the  traits  to  the  exquisite  picture 
of  a  rural  Sabbath  which  tliis  chapter  presents. 

The  parish  church  of  Milston  is  a  modest  edifice,  situated  in  a  combe 
or  hollow  of  the  Wiltshire  downs,  about  two  miles  north-we=t  of  Ames- 
bury.  In  the  parsonage  house — now  an  honoured  ruin — on  the  1st  of 
Ma}^,  1672,  Joseph  Addison  was  born.  It  is  only  separated  from  the 
grave-yard  by  a  hawthorn  fence,  and  must  have  been,  when  inhabited,  the 
beau  ideal  of  a  country  parsonage.  It  has  a  spacious  garden,  rich  glebe, 
and  commands  a  pretty  view,  bounded  by  the  hill  on  which  stands  the 
church  of  Durrington. 

Milston  Church  remains  nearly  in  the  same  state  as  during  the  first 
twelve  years  of  his  life  which  Addison  passed  under  its  shadow.  As  no 
benevolent  parishioner  took  the  hint  conveyed  in  Sir  Roger's  will,  it  is 
btill  without  tower  or  steeple  ;  the  belfry  being  nothing  more  than  a  small 
louvered  shed.  Within,  the  church  is  partitioned  off  by  tall  worm-eaten 
pews,  and  is  scarcely  capable  of  holding  a  hundred  persons.  At  the  east 
end  stands  the  communiontable,  "railed  in."  It  was  once  lighted  by  a 
stained  glass  window  ;  but  of  this  it  was  deprived  by  the  cupidity  of  a  de- 
ceased incumbent.  The  same  person  Vv^as  guilty  of  a  worse  act : — To 
oblige  a  friend — "  a  collector" — he  actually  tore  out  the  leaf  of  the  parish 
register  which  contained  the  entry  of  Joseph  Addison's  birth. 

]\Iilston  Church  does  not  display  the  texts  of  Scripture  attributed  to 
the  Coverley  edifice.  If  any  existed  when  Addison  wrote,  they  must 
have  been  since  effaced  by  whitewash. — * 


No.  112.1 


SPECTATOR. 


307 


mised,  upon  the  death  of  the  present  incumbent,  who  is  very 
old,  to  bestow  it  according  to  merit. 

The  fair  understanding  between  Sir  Koger  and  his  chaplain, 
and  their  mutual  concurrence  in  doing  good,  is  the  more  remark- 
able, because  the  very  next  village  is  famous  for  the  differences 
and  contentions  that  rise  between  the  parson  and  the  'squire, 
who  live  in  a  perpetual  state  of  war.  The  parson  is  always  at 
the  'squire,  and  the  'squire  to  be  revenged  on  the  parson,  never 
comes  to  church.  The  'squire  has  made  all  his  tenants  atheists 
and  tithe-stealers  ;  while  the  parson  instructs  them  every  Sun- 
day in  the  dignity  of  his  order,  and  insinuates  to  them  almost  in 
every  sermon,  that  he  is  a  better  man  than  his  patron.  In  short, 
matters  are  come  to  such  an  extremity,  that  the  'squire  has  not 
said  his  prayers  either  in  public  or  private  this  half  year;  and 
that  the  parson  threatens  him,  if  he  does  not  mend  his  manners, 
to  pray  for  him  in  the  face  of  the  whole  congregation. 

Feuds  of  this  nature,  though  too  frequent  in  the  country,  are 
very  fatal  to  the  ordinary  people ;  who  are  so  used  to  be  dazzled 
with  riches,  that  they  pay  as  much  deference  to  the  understand- 
ing of  a  man  of  an  estate,  as  of  a  man  of  learning;  and  are  very 
hardly  brought  to  regard  any  truth,  how  important  soever  it  may 
be,  that  is  preached  to  them,  when  they  know  there  are  several 
men  of  five  hundred  a  year  who  do  not  believe  it. 

L. 


308 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  116. 


No.  115.    THURSDAY,  JULY  12. 

 tit  sit  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano. 

Juv.  Sat.  X.  35G.  . 

A  liealthy  body  and  a  mind  at  ease. 

Bodily  labour  is  of  two  kinds  ;  either  that  which  a  man  sub- 
mits to  for  his  livelihood  J  or  that  which  he  undergoes  for  his 
pleasure.  The  latter  of  them  generally  changes  the  name  of 
labour  for  that  of  exercise,  but  differs  only  from  ordinary  labour 
as  it  rises  from  another  motive. 

A  country  life  abounds  in  both  these  kinds  of  labour,  and  for 
that  reason  gives  a  man  a  greater  stock  of  health,  and  conse- 
quently a  more  perfect  enjoyment  of  himself,  than  any  other  way 
of  life.  I  consider  the  body  as  a  system  of  tubes  and  glands,  or 
to  use  a  more  rustic  phrase,  a  bundle  of  pipes  and  strainers,  fit- 
ted to  one  another  after  so  wonderful  a  manner,  as  to  make  a 
proper  engine  for  the  soul  to  work  with.  This  description 
does  not  only  comprehend  the  bowels,  bones,  tendons,  veins, 
nerves,  and  arteries,  but  every  muscle  and  every  ligature,  which 
is  a  composition  of  fibres,  that  are  so  many  imperceptible 
tubes  or  pipes  interwoven  on  all  sides  with  invisible  glands  or 
strainers. 

This  general  idea  of  a  human  body,  without  considering  it  in 
the  niceties  of  anatomy,  lets  us  see  how  absolutely  necessary 
labour  is  for  the  right  preservation  of  it.  There  must  be  fre- 
quent motions  ,and  agitations,  to  mix,  digest,  and  separate  the 
juices  contained  in  it,  as  w^ell  as  to  clear  and  cleanse  that  infini- 
tude of  pipes  and  strainers  of  which  it  is  composed,  and  to  give 
their  solid  parts  a  more  firm  and  lasting  tone.  Labour  or  exer- 
cise ferments  the  humours,  casts  them  into  their  proper  channels, 
throws  off  redundancies,  and  helps  nature  in  those  secret  distri- 


No.  115.] 


SPEC  T ATOR. 


309 


butions  without  which  the  body  cannot  subsist  in  its  vigour,  nor 
the  soul  act  with  cheerfulness. 

I  might  here  mention  the  effects  which  this  has  upon  all  the 
faculties  of  the  mind,  by  keeping  the  understanding  clear,  the 
imagination  untroubled,  and  refining  those  spirits  that  are  neces- 
sary for  the  proper  exertion  of  our  intellectual  faculties,  during 
the  present  laws  of  union  between  soul  and  body.  It  is  to  a 
neglect  in  this  particular  that  we  must  ascribe  the  spleen,  which 
is  so  frequent  in  men  of  studious  and  sedentary''  tempers,  as  well 
as  the  vapours  to  which  those  of  the  other  sex  are  so  often 
subject. 

Had  not  exercise  been  absolutely  necessary  for  our  well-being, 
nature  would  not  have  made  the  body  so  proper  for  it,  by  giving 
such  an  activity  to  the  limbs,  and  such  a  pliancy  to  every  part  as 
necessarily  produces  those  compressions,  extensions,  contortions, 
dilatations,  and  all  other  kinds  of  motions  that  are  necessary  for 
the  preservation  of  such  a  system  of  tubes  and  glands  as  has  been 
before  mentioned.  And  that  we  might  not  want  inducements  to 
engage  in  such  an  exercise  of  the  body  as  is  proper  for  its 
welfare,  it  is  so  ordered  that  nothing  valuable  can  be  procured 
without  it.  Not  to  mention  riches  and  honour,  even  food  and 
raiment  are  not  to  be  come  at  without  the  toil  of  the  hands,  and 
sweat  of  the  brows.  Providence  furnishes  materials,  but  expects 
that  we  should  work  them  up  ourselves.  The  earth  must  be 
laboured  before  it  gives  its  increase ;  and  when  it  is  forced  into 
its  several  products,  how  many  hands  must  they  pass  through 
before  they  are  fit  for  use  ?  Manufactures,  trade,  and  agricul- 
ture, naturally  employ  more  than  nineteen  parts  of  the  species  in 
twenty  ;  and  as  for  those  who  are  not  obliged  to  labour,  by  the 
condition  in  which  they  are  born,  they  are  more  miserable  than 

»  We  may  say,  studious,  but  not  sedentary  tempers:  the  proper  word, 
if  we  would  retain  both  the  adjectives,  is,  lives. — H. 


310 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  116 


the  rest  of  mankind,  unless  they  indulge  themselves  in  that 
voluntary  labour  which  goes  by  the  name  of  exercise. 

My  friend  Sir  Roger  has  been  an  indefatigable  man  in  busi- 
ness of  this  kind,  and  has  hung  several  parts  of  his  house  with 
the  trophies  of  his  former  labours.  The  walls  of  his  great  hall  are 
covered  with  the  horns  of  several  kinds  of  deer  that  he  has  killed 
in  the  chase,  which  he  thinks  the  most  valuable  furniture  of  his 
house,  as  they  aflord  him  frequent  topics  of  discourse,  and  shew 
that  he  has  not  been  idle.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  is  a 
large  otter's  skin  stuffed  with  hay,  which  his  mother  ordered  to 
be  hung  up  in  that  manner,  and  the  knight  looks  upon  with  great 
satisfaction,  because,  it  seems,  he  was  but  nine  years  old  when 
his  dog  killed  him.  A  little  room  adjoining  to  the  hall  is  a  kind 
of  arsenal,  filled  with  guns  of  several  sizes  and  inventions,  with 
which  the  knight  has  made  great  havoc  in  the  woods,  and 
destroyed  many  thousands  of  pheasants,  partridges,  and  wood- 
cocks. His  stable  doors  are  patched  with  noses  that  belonged 
to  foxes  of  the  knight's  own  hunting  down.^    Sir  Roger  shewed 

^  Although  the  "Spectator"  advocated  in  this  and  other  pages  mode- 
rate indulgence  in  the  sports  of  the  field,  the  excessive  passion  of  country 
gentlemen  for  them  to  the  exclusion  of  more  intellectual  pastimes,  he  else- 
where deplores.  In  a  later  volume  lie  quotes  a  saying  that  the  curse 
fulminated  by  Goliah  having  missed  David,  had  rested  on  the  modern 
squire: — "I  will  give  thee  to  the  fowls  of  the  air,  and  to  the  beasts  of  the 
field."  The  country  gentleman  was  respected  by  his  neighbours,  less  for 
morality  or  intellect,  than  for  the  number  of  foxes'  noses  he  could  show 
nailed  to  his  stables  and  barns. 

The  sedentary,  though  assuredly  less  healthful  and  respectable  games 
and  pastimes  introduced  by  Charles  the  Second  and  his  followers  from 
abroad,  had  not,  even  in  Queen  Anne's  da}^  become  so  thoroughly  natural- 
ised as  they  were  after\var^ls  ;  and  ladies  keenl}-  participated  in  the  sports 
of  the  field.  The  Queen  herself  followed  the  hounds  in  a  chaise  with  one 
horse,  which,"  says  Swift,  "she  drives  herself;  and  drives  furiously,  like 
Jehu  ;  and  is  a  mighty  hunter,  like  ^simrod."  She  was,  if  Stella's  journal- 
ist did  not  exaggerate,  quite  equal  to  runs  even  longer  than  those  per- 
formed by  the  Coverley  hounds ;  for,  on  the  7th  August,  1711,  she  drove 
before  dinner  five-and-forty  miles  after  a  stag. — * 


No.  115.] 


SPECTATOR. 


311 


me  one  of  them  that,  for  distinction  sake,  has  a  brass  nail  struck 
through  it,  which  cost  him  about  fifteen  hours  riding,  carried  him 
through  half  a  dozen  counties,  killed  him  a  brace  of  geldings,  and 
lost  above  half  his  dogs.  This  the  knight  looks  upon  as  one  of 
the  greatest  exploits  of  his  life.  The  perverse  widow,  whom  I 
have  given  some  account  of,  was  the  death  of  several  foxes  ;^  for 
Sir  Koger  has  told  me  that  in  the  course  of  his  amours  he 
patched  the  western  door  of  his  stable.  Whenever  the  widow 
was  cruel,  the  foxes  were  sure  to  pay  for  it.  In  proportion  as 
his  passion  for  the  widow  abated,  and  old  age  came  on,  he  left 
his  fox-hunting  ;  but  a  hare  is  not  yet  safe  that  sits  within  ten 
miles  of  his  house. 

There  is  no  kind  of  exercise  which  I  would  so  recommend 
to  my  readers  of  both  sexes  as  this  of  riding,  as  there  is  none 
which  so  much  conduces  to  health,  and  is  every  way  accommo- 
dated to  the  body,  according  to  the  idea  which  I  have  given  of  it. 
Doctor  Sydenham  is  very  lavish  in  its  praises  ;  and  if  the  English 
reader  would  see  the  mechanical  effects  of  it  described  at  length, 
he  may  find  them  in  a  book  published  not  many  years  since, 
under  the  title  of  the  Medicina  Gymnastica.^  For  my  own 
part,  when  I  am  in  town,  for  want  of  these  opportunities,  I  ex- 
ercise myself  an  hour  every  morning  upon  a  dumb  bell  that  is 
placed  in  a  corner  of  a  room,  and  pleases  me  the  more  because  it 
does  every  thing  I  require  of  it  in  the  most  profound  silence. 
My  landlady  and  her  daughters  are  so  well  acquainted  with  my 
hours  of  exercise,  that  they  never  come  into  my  room  to  disturb 
me  whilst  I  am  ringing. 

When  I  was  some  years  younger  than  I  am  at  present,  I 
used  to  employ  myself  in  a  more  laborious  diversion,  which  I 
learned  from  a  Latin  treatise  of  exercises,  that  is  written  with 
great  erudition ;  it  is  there  called  the  o-Ktofjiaxta,  or  the  fighting 
'  V.  No.  113.  2  By  Francis  Fuller,  M.  A.— C. 


312 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  117. 


with  a  man^s  own  shadow ;  and  consists  in  the  brandishing 
of  two  short  sticks  grasped  in  each  hand,  and  loaden  with  plugs 
of  lead  at  either  end.  This  opens  the  chest,  exercises  the  limbs, 
and  gives  a  man  all  the  pleasure  of  boxing  without  the  blows.  I 
could  wish  that  several  learned  men  would  lay  out  that  time 
which  they  employ  in  controversies  and  disputes  about  nothing, 
in  this  method  of  fighting  with  their  own  shadows.  It  might 
conduce  very  much  to  evaporate  the  spleen,  which  makes  them 
uneasy  to  the  public  as  well  as  to  themselves. 

To  conclude,  as  I  am  a  compound  of  soul  and  body,  I  consider 
myself  as  obliged  to  a  double  scheme  of  duties ;  and  I  think 
I  have  not  fulfilled  the  business  of  the  day,  when  I  do  not  thus 
employ  the  one  in  labour  and  exercise,  as  well  as  the  other 
in  study  and  contemplation.  L. 


No.  117.    SATURDAY,  JULY  14. 

 Ipsi  sibi  somnia  fingunt. 

YiRG.  Eel.  viii.  lOS. 
Their  own  imaginations  they  deceive. 

There  are  some  opinions  in  which  a  man  should  stand  neuter, 
without  engaging  his  assent  to  one  side  or  the  other.  Such 
a  hovering  faith  as  this,  which  refuses  to  settle  upon  any  de- 
termination, is  absolutely  necessary  in  a  mind  that  is  careful  to 
avoid  errors  and  prepossessions.  ^Yhen  the  arguments  press 
equally  on  both  sides  in  matters  that  arc  indiiferent  to  us, 
the  safest  method  is  to  give  up  ourselves  to  neither. 

It  is  with  this  temper  of  mind  that  I  consider  the  subject  of 
witchcraft.  When  I  hear  the  relations  that  are  made  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  not  only  from  Norway  and  Lapland,  from  the 
East  and   West  Indies,  but  from  every  particular  nation  in 


No.  117.] 


SPECTATOR. 


313 


Europe,  I  cannot  forbear  thinking  that  there  is  such  an  intercourse 
and  commerce  with  evil  spirits,  as  that  which  we  express  by  the 
name  of  witchcraft.  But  when  I  consider  that  the  ignorant  and 
credulous  parts  of  the  world  abound  most  in  these  relations,  and 
that  the  persons  among  us  who  are  supposed  to  engage  in  such 
an  infernal  commerce,  are  people  of  a  weak  understanding  and 
crazed  imagination,  and  at  the  same  time  reflect  upon  the  many 
impostures  and  delusions  of  this  nature  that  have  been  detected 
in  all  ages,  I  endeavour  to  suspend  my  belief,  till  I  hear  more 
certain  accounts  than  any  which  have  yet  come  to  my  knowledge. 
In  short,  when  I  consider  the  question,  Whether  there  are  such 
persons  in  the  world  as  those  we  call  witches?  my  mind  is 
divided  between  two  opposite  opinions ;  or  rather  (to  speak  my 
thoughts  freely)  I  believe  in  general  that  there  is,  and  has  been, 
such  a  thing  as  witchcraft;  but  at  the  same  time  can  give  no 
credit  to  any  particular  instance  of  it. 

T  am  engaged  in  this  speculation,  by  some  occurrences  that  I 
met  with  yesterday,  which  I  shall  give  my  reader  an  account  of 
-at  large.  As  I  was  walking  with  my  friend  Sir  Roger,  by  the 
side  of  one  of  his  woods,  an  old  woman  applied  herself  to  me  for 
my  charity.  Her  dress  and  figure  put  me  in  mind  of  the  follow- 
ing description  in  Otway  : 

In  a  close  lane,  as  I  pursu'd  my  journey, 
I  spy'd  a  wrinkled  Hag,  with  age  grown  double, 
Picking  dry  sticks,  and  mumbling  to  herself. 
Her  eyes  with  scalding  rheum  were  gall'd  and  red  ; 
Cold  palsy  shook  her  head ;  her  hands  seem'd  wither'd ; 
And  on  her  crooked  shoulders  had  she  wrapp'd 
The  tatter'd  remnants  of  an  old  strip'd  hanging, 
Which  serv'd  to  keep  her  carcass  from  the  cold, 
So  there  was  nothing  of  a  piece  about  her. 
Her  lower  weeds  were  all  o'er  coarsely  patch'd 
With  diff'rent  coloured  rags,  black,  red,  white,  yellow, 
And  seem'd  to  speak  variety  of  wretchedness. ^ 

*  Orphan,  Act  IL— C. 

VOL.  v. — 14 


314 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  117. 


As  I  was  musing  on  this  description,  and  comparing  it  with 
the  object  before  me,  the  knight  told  me  that  this  very  woman 
had  the  reputation  of  a  witch  all  over  the  country,  that  her  lips 
were  observed  to  be  always  in  motion,  and  that  there  was  not  a 
switch  about  her  house  which  her  neighbours  did  not  believe  had 
carried  her  several  hundreds  of  miles.  If  she  chanced  to  stum- 
ble, they  always  found  sticks  or  straws  that  lay  in  the  figure  of  a 
cross  before  her.  If  she  made  any  mistake  at  church,  and  cried 
Amen  in  a  wrong  place,  they  never  failed  to  conclude  that  she 
was  saying  her  prayers  backwards.  There  was  not  a  maid  in  the 
parish  that  would  take  a  pin  of  her,  though  she  should  ofi*er  a 
bag  of  money  with  it.  She  goes  by  the  name  of  Moll  White, 
and  has  made  the  country  ring  with  several  imaginary  exploits 
which  are  palmed  upon  her.  If  the  dairy-maid  does  not  make 
her  butter  to  come  so  soon  as  she  would  have  it,  Moll  White  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  churn.  If  a  horse  sweats  in  the  stable, 
Moll  White  has  been  upon  his  back.  If  a  hare  makes  an  unex- 
pected escape  from  the  hounds,  the  huntsman  curses  Moll  White. 
Nay  (says  Sir  Roger)  I  have  known  the  master  of  the  pack, . 
upon  such  an  occasion,  send  one  of  his  servants  to  see  if  Moll 
White  had  been  out  that  morning. 

This  account  raised  my  curiosity  so  far,  that  I  begged  my 
friend  Sir  Koger  to  go  with  me  into  her  hovel,,  which  stood  in  a 
solitary  corner  under  the  side  of  the  wood.  Upon  our  first  en- 
tering. Sir  Roger  winked  to  me,  and  pointed  at  something  that 
stood  behind  the  door,  which  upon  looking  that  way,  I  found  to 
be  an  old  broom-stajBT.  At  the  same  time  he  whispered  me  in  the 
ear,  to  take  notice  of  a  tabby  cat  that  sat  in  the  chimney-corner, 
which,  as  the  knight  told  me,  lay  under  as  bad  a  report  as  Moll 
White  herself;  for  besides  that  Moll  is  said  often  to  ac- 
company her  in  the  same  shape,  the  cat  is  reported  to  have 


No.  llV.] 


SPECTATOR. 


315 


spoken  twice  or  thrice  in  her  life,  and  to  have  played  several 
pranks  above  the  capacity  of  an  ordinary  cat" 

I  was  secretly  concerned  to  see  human  nature  \n  so  much 
wretchedness  and  disgrace,  but  at  the  same  time  could  not  forbear 
smiling  to  hear  Sir  Roger,  who  is  a  little  puzzled  about  the  old 
woman,  advising  her,  as  a  justice  of  peace,  to  avoid  all  communi- 
cation with  the  Devil,  and  never  to  hurt  any  of  her  neighbours' 
cattle.  We  concluded  our  visit  with  a  bounty,  which  was  very 
acceptable. 

In  our  return  home,  Sir  Eoger  told  me,  that  old  Moll  had 
been  often  brought  before  him  for  making  children  spit  pins,  and 
giving  maids  the  night-mare ;  and  that  the  country  people  would 
be  tossing  her  into  a  pond,  and  trying  experiments  with  her  every 
day,  if  it  was  not  for  him  and  his  chaplain. 

I  have  since  found,  upon  inquiry,  that  Sir  Roger  was  several 
times  staggered  with  the  reports  that  had  been  brought  him  con- 
cerning this  old  woman,  and  would  frequently  have  bound  her 
over  to  the  county  sessions,  had  not  his  chaplain  with  much  ado 
persuaded  him  to  the  contrary. 

I  have  been  the  more  particular  on  this  account,  because  I 
hear  that  there  is  scarce  a  village  in  England  that  has  not  a 
Moll  White  in  it.^    When  an  old  woman  begins  to  doat,  and 

1  The  belief  in  witchcraft  was  in  Anne's  reign  something  more  than 
popular.  The  act  of  James  (anno  1.  cap.  12.)  AYas  in  full  force.  By  it, 
death  was  decreed  to  whoever  dealt  with  evil  or  wicked  spirits,  or  in- 
voked them  whereby  any  persons  were  killed  or  lamed ;  or  discovered 
where  anything  was  hidden,  or  provoked  unlawful  love,  &g.  Under  this 
law  two  women  were  executed  at  Northampton  just  before  the  "  Specta- 
tor" began  to  be  published;  and,  not  long  after  (1716),  a  Mrs.  Hicks  and 
her  daughter  were  hanged  at  Huntington  for  selling  their  souls  to  the  devil, 
making  their  neighbours  vomit  pins,  raising  a  storm  so  that  a  certain  ship 
was  "almost"  lost,  and  a  variety  of  other  impossible  crimes.  By  1736 
these  superstitions  abated;  the  Witch  Act  had  become  dormant;  and,  on 
an  ignorant  person  attempting  in  that  year  to  enforce  it  against  an  old 
woman  in  Surrey,  it  was  repealed  (10th  Geo.  IL) — * 


316 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  119. 


grow  chargeable  to  a  parish,  she  is  generally  turned  into  a  witch^ 
and  fills  the  whole  country  with  extravagant  fancies,  imagi- 
nary distempers,  and  terrifying  dreams.  In  the  mean  time 
the  poor  wretch  that  is  the  innocent  occasion  of  so  many  evils, 
begins  to  be  frighted  at  herself,  and  sometimes  confesses  secret 
commerces  and  familiarities  that  her  imagination  forms  in  a  deli- 
rious old  age.  This  frequently  cuts  off  charity  from  the  greatest 
objects  of  compassion,  and  inspires  people  with  a  malevolence 
towards  those  poor  decrepit  parts  of  our  species,  in  whom  human 
nature  is  defaced  by  infirmity  and  dotage.  L. 


No.  119.    TUESDAY,  JULY  17. 

Urbem  quam  dicunt  Eomam,  Melibsee,  putavi 

Stultus  ego  huic  nostrfB  similem  

ViRG.  Eel.  i.  20. 

Fool  that  I  was,  I  thought  imperial  Eomc 
Like  Mantua. 

Dryden. 

The  first  and  most  obvious  reflections  which  arise  in  a  man 
who  changes  the  city  for  the  country,  are  upon  the  different  man- 
ners of  the  people  whom  he  meets  with  in  those  two  different 
scenes  of  life.  By  manners  I  do  not  mean  morals,  but  behaviour 
and  good-breeding,  as  they  show  themselves  in  the  town  and  in 
the  country. 

And  here,  in  the  first  place,  I  must  observe  a  very  great  rev- 
olution, that  has  happened  in  this  article  of  good-breeding. 
Several  obliging  deferences,  condescensions,  and  submissions, 
with  many  outward  forms  and  ceremonies  that  accompany  them, 
were  first  of  all  brought  up  among  the  politer  part  of  mankind, 
who  lived  in  courts  and  cities,  and  distinguished  themselves  from 


No.  119.] 


SPECTATOR. 


317 


the  rustic  part  of  the  species  (who  on  all  occasions  acted  bluntly 
and  naturally)  by  such  a  mutual  complaisance  and  intercourse  of 
civilities.  These  forms  of  conversation  by  degrees  multiplied, 
and  grew  troublesome ;  the  modish  world  found  too  great  a  con- 
straint in  them,  and  have  therefore  thrown  most  of  them  aside. 
Conversation,  like  the  Romish  religion,  was  so  encumbered  with 
show  and  ceremony,  that  it  stood  in  need  of  a  reformation  to  re- 
trench  its  superfluities,  and  restore  it  to  its  natural  good  sense 
and  beauty.  At  present,  therefore,  an  unconstrained  carriage, 
and  a  certain  openness  of  behaviour,  are  the  height  of  good- 
breeding.  The  fashionable  world  is  growing  free  and  easy ;  our 
manners  sit  more  loose  upon  us:  nothing  is  so  modish**  as  an 
agreeable  negligence.  In  a  word,  good-breeding  shews  most, 
where  to  an  ordinary  eye  it  appears  the  least. 

If  after  this  we  look  on  the  people  of  mode  in  the  country, 
we  find  in  them  the  manners  of  the  last  age.  They  have  no 
sooner  fetched  themselves  up  to  the  fashion  of  the  polite  world, 
but  the  town  has  dropped  them,  and  are  nearer  to  the  first  state 
of  nature,  than  to  those  refinements  which  formerly  reigned  in  the 
court,  and  still  prevail  in  the  country.  One  may  now  know  a 
man  that  never  conversed  in  the  world,  by  his  excess  of  good- 
breeding.  A  polite  country  squire  shall  make  you  as  many  bows 
in  half  an  hour,  as  would  serve  a  courtier  for  a  week.  There  is 
infinitely  more  to  do  about  place  and  precedency  in  a  meeting  of 
justices'  wives,  than  in  an  assembly  of  duchesses. 

This  rural  politeness  is  very  troublesome  to  a  man  of  my 

temper,  who  generally  take  the  chair  that  is  next  me,  and  walk 

first  or  last,  in  the  front  or  in  the  rear,  as  chance  directs.  I 

have  known  my  friend  Sir  Roger's  dinner  almost  cold  before  the 

company  could  adjust  the  ceremonial,  and  be  prevailed  upon  to 

*  Modish.  The  vulgar  use  of  this  term  has,  I  suppose,  disgraced  it. 
It  would  not,  now,  be  endured  in  a  polite  conversation,  much  less  in  polite 
writing. — H. 


318 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  119 


sit  down  ^  and  have  heartily  pitied  my  old  friend,  when  I  have 
seen  him  forced  to  pick  and  cull  his  guests,  as  they  sat  at  the 
several  parts  of  his  table,  that  he  might  drink  their  healths  ac- 
cording to  their  respective  ranks  and  qualities.  Honest  Will 
Wimble,  who  1  should  have  thought  had  been  altogether  unin- 
fected with  ceremony,  gives  me  abundance  of  trouble  in  this  par- 
ticular. Though  he  has  been  fishing  all  the  morning,  he  will  not 
help  himself  at  dinner  till  I  am  served.  When  we  are  going  out 
of  the  hall,  he  runs  behind  me  ;  and  last  night,  as  we  were  walk- 
ing in  the  fields,  stopped  short  at  a  stile  till  I  came  up  to  it,  and 
upon  my  making  signs  to  him  to  get  over,  told  me,  with  a 
serious  smile,  that  sure  I  believed  they  had  no  manners  in  the 
country. 

There  has  happened  another  revolution  in  the  point  of  good- 
breeding,  which  relates  to  the  conversation  among  men  of  mode, 
and  which  I  cannot  but  look  upon  as  very  extraordinary.  It 
was  certainly  one  of  the  first  distinctions  of  a  well  bred  man,  to 
express  every  thing  that  had  the  most  remote  appearance  of  being 
obscene,  in  modest  terms  and  distant  phrases,  whilst  the  clown, 
who  had  no  such  delicacy  of  conception  and  expression,  clothed 
his  ideas  in  those  plain  homely  terms  that  are  the  most  obvious 
and  natural.  This  kind  of  good  manners  was  perhaps  carried-  to 
an  excess,  so  as  to  make  conversation  too  stifi",  formal,  and  pre- 
cise ;  for  which  reason  (as  hypocrisy  in  one  age  is  generally  suc- 
ceeded by  atheism  in  another)  conversation  is  in  a  great  measure 
relapsed  into  the  first  extreme ;  so  that  at  present  several  of  our 
men  of  the  town,  and  particularly  those  who  have  been  polished 
in  France,  make  use  of  the  most  coarse  uncivilized  words  in  our 
language,  and  utter  themselves  often  in  such  a  manner  as  a  clown 
would  blush  to  hear. 

This  infamous  piece  of  good-breeding,  which  reigns  among 
the  coxcombs  of  the  town,  has  not  yet  made  its  way  into  the 


No.  119.] 


SPECTATOR. 


319 


country  ;  and  as  it  is  impossible  for  such  an  irrational  ^Yay  of 
conversation  to  last  long  among  a  people  that  makes  any  profes- 
sion of  religion,  or  show  of  modesty,  if  the  country  gentlemen 
get  into  it,  they  will  certainly  be  left  in  the  lurch.  Their  good- 
breeding  will  come  too  late  to  them,  and  they  will  be  thought  a 
parcel  of  lewd  clowns,  while  they  fancy  themselves  talking  togeth- 
er like  men  of  wit  and  pleasure. 

As  the  two  points  of  good-breeding,  which  I  have  hitherto 
insisted  upon,  regard  behaviour  and  conversation,  there  is  a  third 
which  turns  upon  dress.  In  this  too  the  country  are  very  much 
behind-hand.  The  rural  beaus  are  not  yet  got  out  of  the  fashion 
that  took  place  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  but  ride  about  the 
country  in  red  coats  and  laced  hats ;  while  the  women  in  many 
parts  are  still  trying  to  outvie  one  another  in  the  height  of  their 
head-dresses.^ 

But  a  friend  of  mine,  who  is  now  upon  the  western  circuit, 
having  promised  to  give  me  an  account  of  the  several  modes  and 
fashions  that  prevail  in  the  different  parts  of  the  nation  through 

^  This,  at  the  date  of  the  present  paper,  was  being  decidedly  "  behind 
the  fashion;  "  for  early  in  171 1  the  mode  changed.  Still  the  provincials 
had  their  excuses,  for  in  No.  98.  the  "  Spectator  "  affirms  that  there  is  no 
such  variable  thing  in  nature  as  a  lady's  head-dress ;  "  Within  my  own 
memory  I  have  known  it  rise  and  fall  above  thirty  degrees.  About  ten 
years  ago  it  shot  up  to  a  very  great  height  insomuch  that  the  female  part 
of  our  species  were  much  taller  than  men.  The  women  were  of  such  an 
enormous  stature,  that  we  appeared  as  grasshoppers  before  them.  At 
present  the  whole  sex  is  in  a  manner  dwarfed  and  shrunk  into  a  race  of 
beauties  that  seems  almost  another  species.  I  remember  several  ladies, 
who  were  once  very  near  seven  foot  high,  that  at  present  want  some  in- 
ches of  five ;  how  they  came  to  be  thus  curtailed  I  cannot  learn." 

Besides  the  numerous  papers  devoted  to  women's  attire,  the  whole  of 
No.  265.  is  a  satire  on  the  single  subject  of  head-dresses.  This  frequent  re 
currence  to  the  small  absurdities  of  female  fashion  is  said  to  have  damaged 
the  prosperity  of  the  "  Spectator."  Soon  after  the  appearance  of  the  above 
cited  number,  Swift  writes  impatiently  in  his  Journal,  "I  will  not  meddle 
with  the  'Spectator:  '  let  him  fair- sex  if  to  the  world's  end." — * 


320 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  120. 


which  he  passes,  I  shall  defer  enlarging  upon  this  last  topic  till  I 
have  received  a  letter  from  him,  which  I  expect  every  post. 

L. 


No.  120.    WEDNESDAY,  JULY  18. 

 Equidem  credo,  quia  sit  divinitus  illis 

Ingenium  

YiKG.  Geoeg.  i.  415. 
I  think  their  breasts  with  heav'nly  souls  inspir'd. 

Dryden. 

My  friend  Sir  Roger  is  very  often  merry  with  me,  upon  my 
passing  so  much  of  my  time  among  his  poultry  :  he  has  caught 
me  twice  or  thrice  looking  after  a  bird's  nest,  and  several  times 
sitting  an  hour  or  two  together  near  an  hen  and  chickens.  He 
tells  me  he  believes  I  am  personally  acquainted  with  every  fowl 
about  his  house ;  calls  such  a  particular  cock  my  favourite,  and 
frequently  complains  that  his  ducks  and  geese  have  more  of  my 
company  than  himself. 

I  must  confess  I  am  infinitely  delighted  with  those  specula- 
tions of  nature  which  are  to  be  made  in  a  country-life ;  and  as 
my  reading  has  very  much  lain  among  books  of  natural  history, 
I  cannot  forbear  recollecting  upon  this  occasion,  the  several  re- 
marks which  I  have  met  with  in  authors,  and  comparing  them 
with  what  falls  under  my  own  observation  :  the  arguments  for 
Providence  drawn  from  the  natural  history  of  animals  being  in 
my  opinion  demonstrative. 

The  make  of  every  kind  of  animal  is  different  from  that  of 
every  other  kind  ;  and  yet  there  is  not  the  least  turn  in  the  mus- 
cles, or  twist  in  the  fibres,  of  any  one,  which  does  not  render 
them  more  proper  for  that  particular  animal's  way  of  life,  than 
any  other  cast  or  texture  of  them  would  have  been. 


No.  120.] 


SPECTATOR. 


321 


The  most  violent  appetites  in  all  creatures  are  lust  and  hun- 
ger :  the  first  is  a  perpetual  call  upon  them  to  propagate  their 
kind  ;  the  latter  to  preserve  themselves. 

It  is  astonishing  to  consider  the  different  degrees  of  care  that 
descend  from  the  parent  to  the  young,  so  far  as  is  absolutely  ne- 
cessary for  the  leaving  a  posterity.  Some  creatures  cast  their 
eggs  as  chance  directs  them,  and  think  of  them  no  farther,  as  in- 
sects, and  several  kinds  of  fish  :  others,  of  a  nicer  frame,  find  out 
proper  beds  to  deposit  them  in,  and  there  leave  them ;  as  the 
serpent,  the  crocodile,  and  ostrich  :  others  hatch  their  eggs,  and 
tend  the  birth,  till  it  is  able  to  shift  for  itself. 

What  can  we  call  the  principle  which  directs  every  different 
kind  of  bird  to  observe  a  particular  plan  in  the  structure  of  its 
nest,  and  directs  all  of  the  same  species  to  work  after  the  same 
model  ?  It  cannot  be  imitation  ;  for  though  you  hatch  a  crow 
under  a  hen,  and  never  let  it  see  any  of  the  works  of  its  own  kind, 
the  nest  it  makes  shall  be  the  same,  to  the  laying  of  a  stick,  with 
all  the  other  nests  of  the  same  species.  It  cannot  be  reason  ;  for 
were  animals  endued  with  it  to  as  great  a  degree  as  man,  their 
buildings  would  be  as  different  as  ours,  according  to  the  different 
conveniencies  that  they  would  propose  to  themselves. 

Is  it  not  remarkable,  that  the  same  temper  of  weather  which 
raises  this  genial  warmth  in  animals,  should  cover  the  trees  with 
leaves,  and  the  fields  with  grass,  for  their  security  and  conceal- 
ment, and  produce  such  infinite  swarms  of  insects  for  the  support 
and  sustenance  of  their  respective  broods  ? 

Is  it  not  wonderful,  that  the  love  of  the  parent  should  be  so 
violent  while  it  lasts :  and  that  it  should  last  no  longer  than  is 
necessary  for  the  preservation  of  the  young  ? 

The  violence  of  this  natural  love  is  exemplified  by  a  very  bar- 
barous experiment ;  which  I  shall  quote  at  length  as  I  find  it  in  an 
excellent  author,  and  hope  my  readers  will  pardon  the  mentioning 

VOL.    V. — 14* 


322 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  120 


such  an  instance  of  cruelty,  because  there  is  nothing  can  so  effec 
tually  shew  the  strength  of  that  principle  in  animals,  of  which  I  am 
here  speaking.  A  person  who  was  well  skilled  in  dissections 
opened  a  bitch,  and  as  she  lay  in  the  most  exquisite  tortures,  offered 
her  one  of  her  young  puppies,  which  she  immediately  fell  a  licking; 
and  for  the  time  seemed  insensible  of  her  own  pain  :  on  the  remo- 
val, she  kept  her  eyes  fixt  on  it,  and  began  a  wailing  sort  of  cry, 
which  seemed  rather  to  proceed  from  the  loss  of  her  young  one 
than  the  sense  of  her  own  torments." 

But  notwithstanding  this  natural  love  in  brutes  is  much  more 
violent  and  intense  than  in  rational  creatures.  Providence  has 
taken  care  that  it  should  be  no  longer  troublesome  to  the  parent 
than  it  is  useful  to  the  young ;  for  so  soon  as  the  wants  of  the 
latter  cease,  the  mother  withdraws  her  fondness,  and  leaves  them 
to  provide  for  themselves  :  and  what  is  a  very  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance in  this  part  of  instinct,  we  find  that  the  love  of  'the 
paren,t  may  be  lengthened  out  beyond  its  usual  time,  if  the  pre- 
servation of  the  species  requires  it ;  as  we  may  see  in  birds  that 
drive  away  their  young  as  soon  as  they  are  able  to  get  their  live- 
lihood, but  continue  to  feed  them  if  they  are  tied  to  the  nest,  or 
confined  within  a  cage,  or  by  any  other  means  appear  to  be  out 
of  a  condition  of  supplying  their  own  necessities. 

This  natural  love  is  not  observed  in  animals  to  ascend  from 
the  young  to  the  parent,  which  is  not  at  all  necessary  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  species  :  nor,  indeed,  in  reasonable  creatures  does 
it  rise  in  any  proportion,  as  it  spreads  itself  downwards ;  for  in 
all  family  affection,  we  find  protection  granted,  and  favours  be- 
stowed, are  greater  motives  to  love  and  tenderness,  than  safety, 
benefits,  or  life  received. 

One  would  wonder  to  hear  sceptical  men  disputing  for  the  rea- 
son of  animals,  and  telling  us  it  is  only  our  pride  and  prejudices 
that  will  not  allow  them  the  use  of  that  faculty. 


No.  120.] 


SPECTATOR. 


323 


Reason  shews  itself  in  all  occurrences  of  life ;  whereas  the 
brute  makes  no  discovery  of  such  a  talent,  but  in  what  imme- 
diately regards  his  own  preservation,  or  the  continuance  of  his 
species.  Animals  in  their  generation  are  wiser  than  the  sons  of 
men ;  but  their  wisdom  is  confined  to  a  few  particulars,  and  lies 
in  a  very  narrow  compass.  Take  a  brute  out  of  his  instinct,  and 
you  find  him  w^holly  deprived  of  understanding.  To  use  an  in- 
stance that  comes  often  under  observation. 

With  what  caution  does  the  hen  provide  herself  a  nest  in 
places  unfrequented,  and  free  from  noise  and  disturbance  ?  When 
she  has  laid  her  eggs  in  such  a  manner  that  she  can  cover  them, 
what  care  does  she  take  in  turning  them  frequently,  that  all  parts 
may  partake  of  the  vital  warmth  ?  When  she  leaves  them  to  pro- 
vide for  her  necessary  sustenance,  how  punctually  does  she  return 
before  they  have  time  to  cool,  and  become  incapable  of  producing 
an  animal  ?  In  the  summer  you  see  her  giving  herself  greater 
freedoms,  and  quitting  her  care  for  above  two  hours  together ; 
but  in  winter,  when  the  rigour  of  the  season  would  chill  the  prin- 
ciples of  life,  and  destroy  the  young  one,  she  grows  more  assidu- 
ous in  her  attendance,  and  stays  away  but  half  the  time.  When 
the  birth  approaches,  with  how  much  nicety  and  attention  does 
she  help  the  chick  to  break  its  prison  !  Not  to  take  notice  of  her 
covering  it  from  the  injuries  of  the  weather,  providing  it  proper 
nourishment,  and  teaching  it  to  help  itself  ;  nor  to  mention  her 
forsaking  the  nest,  if  after  the  usual  time  of  reckoning  the  young 
one  does  not  make  its  appearance.  A  chymical  operation  could 
not  be  followed  with  greater  art  and  diligence,  than  is  seen  in  the 
hatching  of  a  chick ;  though  there  are  many  other  birds  that 
shew  an  infinitely  greater  sagacity  in  all  the  forementioned  par- 
ticulars. 

But  at  the  same  time  the  hen,  that  has  all  this  seeming  inge- 
nuity, (which  is  indeed  absolutely  necessary  for  the  propagation 


824 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  121. 


of  the  species)  considered  in  other  respects,  is  without  the  least 
glimmerings  of  thought  or  common  sense.  She  mistakes  a  piece 
of  chalk  for  an  egg,  and  sits  upon  it  in  the  same  manner  :  she  is 
insensible  of  an  increase  or  diminution  in  the  number  of  those  she 
lays  :  she  does  not  distinguish  between  her  own  and  those  of  an- 
other species ;  and  when  the  birth  appears  of  never  so  different  a 
bird,  will  cherish  it  for  her  own.  In  all  these  circumstances, 
which  do  not  carry  an  immediate  regard  to  the  subsistence  of 
herself,  or  her  species,  she  is  a  very  ideot. 

There  is  not  in  my  opinion  any  thing  more  mysterious  in  na- 
ture than  this  instinct  in  animals,  which  thus  rises  above  reason, 
and  falls  infinitely  short  of  it.  It  cannot  be  accounted  for  by 
any  properties  in  matter,  and  at  the  same  time  works  after  so 
odd  a  manner,  that  one  cannot  think  it  the  faculty  of  an  intel- 
lectual being.  For  my  own  part,  I  look  upon  it  as  upon  the 
principle  of  gravitation  in  bodies,  which  is  not  to  be  explained  by 
any  known  qualities  inherent  in  the  bodies  themselves,  nor  from 
any  laws  of  mechanism,  but,  according  to  the  best  notions  of  the 
greatest  philosophers,  is  an  immediate  impression  from  the  first 
mover,  and  the  divine  energy  acting  in  the  creatures.  L. 


No.  121.    THURSDAY,  JULY  19. 

 Jovis  omnia  plena. 

ViRQ.  Eel.  iii.  60. 

All  things  are  full  of  Jove. 

As  I  was  walking  this  morning  in  the  great  yard  that  belongs 
to  my  friend's  country-house,  I  was  wonderfully  pleased  to  see 
the  different  workings  of  instinct  in  a  hen  followed  by  a  brood  of 


No.  121.1 


SPECTATOR . 


325 


ducks.  The  young,  upon  the  sight  of  a  pond,  immediately  ran 
into  it ;  while  the  step-mother,  with  all  imaginable  anxiety,  hover- 
ed about  the  borders  of  it,  to  call  them  out  of  an  element  that 
appeared  to  her  so  dangerous  and  destructive.  As  the  different 
principle  which  acted  in  these  different  animals  cannot  be  termed 
reason,  so  when  we  call  it  instinct,  we  mean  something  we  have 
no  knowledge  of.  To  me,  as  I  hinted  in  my  last  paper,  it  seems 
the  immediate  direction  of  Providence,  and  such  an  operation  of 
the  Supreme  Being,  as  that  which  determines  all  the  portions  of 
matter  to  their  proper  centres.  A  modern  philosopher,  quoted 
by  Monsieur  Bayle  in  his  learned  dissertation  on  the  souls  of 
brutes,  delivers  the  same  opinion,  though  in  a  bolder  form  of 
words,  where  he  says,  Deus  est  anima  brutorum  :  ^  God  himself 
is  the  soul  of  brutes.'  Who  can  tell  what  to  call  that  seeming 
sagacity  in  animals,  which  directs  them  to  such  food  as  is  proper 
for  them,  and  makes  them  naturally  avoid  whatever  is  noxious  or 
unwholesome  ?  Tully  has  observed,  that  a  lamb  no  sooner  falls 
from  its  mother,  but  immediately,  and  of  its  own  accord,  applies 
itself  to  the  teat.  Dampier,  in  his  travels,  tells  us,  that  when 
seamen  are  thrown  upon  any  of  the  unknown  coasts  of  America, 
they  never  venture  upon  the  fruit  of  any  tree,  how  tempting  so- 
ever it  may  appear,  unless  they  observe  that  it  is  marked  with 
the  pecking  of  birds  ;  but  fall  on  without  any  fear  or  apprehension 
where  the  birds  have  been  before  them. 

But  notwithstanding  animals  have  nothing  like  the  use  of 
reason,  we  find  in  them  all  the  lower  parts  of  our  nature,  the  pas- 
sions and  senses  in  their  greatest  strength  and  perfection.  And 
here  it  is  worth  our  observation,  that  all  beasts  and  birds  of  prey 
are  wonderfully  subject  to  anger,  malice,  revenge,  and  all  other 
violent  passions  that  may  animate  them  in  search  of  their  proper 
food ;  as  those  that  are  incapable  of  defending  themselves,  or  an- 
noying others,  or  whose  safety  lies  chiefly  in  their  flight,  are  sus- 


326 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  12. 


picious,  fearful,  and  apprehensive  of  every  thing  they  see  or  heai  : 
whilst  others,  that  are  of  assistance  and  use  to  man,  have  their 
natures  softened  with  something  mild  and  tractable,  and  by  that 
means  are  qualified  for  a  domestic  life.  In  this  case  the  passions 
generally  correspond  with  the  make  of  the  body.  We  do  not 
find  the  fury  of  a  lion  in  so  weak  and  defenceless  an  animal  as  a 
lamb,  nor  the  meekness  of  a  lamb  in  a  creature  so  armed  foi 
battle  and  assault  as  the  lion.  In  the  same  manner,  we  find  that 
particular  animals  have  a  more  or  less  exquisite  sharpness  and 
sagacity  in  those  particular  senses  which  most  turn  to  their  ad- 
vantage, and  in  which  their  safety  and  welfare  is  the  most  con- 
cerned. 

Nor  must  we  here  omit  that  great  variety  of  arms  with  which 
nature  has  difierently  fortified  the  bodies  of  several  kinds  of  ani- 
mals, such  as  claws,  hoofs,  and  horns,  teeth  and  tusks,  a  tail,  a 
^  sting,  a  trunk,  or  a  proboscis.  It  is  likewise  observed  by  natural- 
ists, that  it  must  be  some  hidden  principle,  distinct  from  what  we 
call  reason,  which  instructs  animals  in  the  use  of  these  their  arms, 
and  teaches  them  to  manao;e  them  to  the  best  advantao:e ;  because 
they  naturally  defend  themselves  with  that  part  in  which  their 
strength  lies,  before  the  weapon  be  formed  in  it ;  as  is  remarkable 
in  lambs,  which,  though  they  are  bred  within  doors,  and  never  saw 
the  actions  of  their  own  species,  push  at  those  who  approach 
them  with  their  foreheads,  before  the  first  budding  of  a  horn  ap- 
pears. 

I  shall  add  to  these  general  observations,  an  instance  which 
Mr.  Locke  has  given  us  of  Providence,  even  in  the  imperfections 
of  a  creature  which  seems  the  meanest  and  most  despicable  in  the 
whole  animal  world. ^  'We  may,  (says  he,)  from  the  make  of  an 
oyster,  or  cockle,  conclude,  that  it  has  not  so  many  nor  so  quick 
senses  as  a  man,  or  several  other  animals  :  nor,  if  it  had,  would 

^  Essay,  <te.  B.  ii,  cli.  9,  sect.  13.— C. 


No.  121.] 


SPECTATOR. 


327 


it  in  that  state  and  incapacity  of  transferring  itself  from  one  place 
to  another,  be  bettered  by  them.  What  good  would  sight  and 
hearing  do  to  a  creature  that  cannot  move  itself  to,  or  from  the 
object,  wherein  at  a  distance  it  perceives  good  or  evil?  And 
would  not  quickness  of  sensation  be  an  inconvenience  to  an  ani- 
mal, that  must  be  still  where  chance  has  once  placed  it ;  and  there 
receive  the  afflux  of  colder  or  warmer,  clean  or  foul  water,  as  it 
happens  to  come  to  it  ?  ' 

I  shall  add  to  this  instance  out  of  Mr.  Locke,  another  out  of 
the  learned  Dr.  More,^  who  cites  it  from  Cardan,  in  relation  to 
another  animal  which  Providence  has  left  defective,  but  at  the 
same  time  has  shewn  its  wisdom  in  the  formation  of  that  organ  in 
which  it  seems  chiefly  to  have  failed.  ^  What  is  more  obvious 
and  ordinary  than  a  mole;  and  yet  what  more  palpable  argument 
of  Providence  than  she  ?  the  members  of  her  body  are  so  exactly 
fitted  to  her  nature  and  manner  of  life  :  for  her  dwelling  being 
under  ground,  where  nothing  is  to  be  seen,  nature  has  so  obscure- 
ly fitted  her  with  eyes,  that  naturalists  can  scarce  agree  whether 
she  have  any  sight  at  all  or  no.  But,  for  amends,  what  she  is 
capable  of  for  her  defence,  and  warning  of  danger,  she  has  very 
eminently  conferred  upon  her ;  for  she  is  exceeding  quick  of  hear- 
ing. And  then  her  short  tail  and  short  legs,  but  broad  fore-feet, 
armed  with  sharp  claws,  we  see  by  the  event  to  what  purpose 
they  are,  she  so  swiftly  working  herself  under  ground,  and  mak- 
ing her  way  so  fast  in  the  earth,  as  they  that  behold  it  cannot  but 
admire  it.  Her  legs  therefore  are  short,  that  she  need  dig  no 
more  than  will  serve  the  meer  thickness  of  her  body ;  and  her 
fore-feet  are  broad,  that  she  may  scoup  away  much  earth  at  a 
time ;  and  little  or  no  tail  she  has,  because  she  courses  it  not  on 
the  ground,  like  the  rat  or  mouse,  of  whose  kindred  she  is,  but 
lives  under  the  earth,  and  is  fain  to  dig  herself  a  dwelling  there. 
^  Antidote  against  Atheism,  B.  II,  ch.  10,  sect.  5. — C. 


328 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  121 


And  she  making  her  way  through  so  thick  an  element,  which  will 
not  yield  easily,  as  the  air  or  the  water,  it  had  been  dangerous  to 
have  drawn  so  long  a  train  behind  her ;  for  her  enemy  might  fall 
upon  her  rear,  and  fetch  her  out  before  she  had  compleated  or 
got  full  possession  of  her  works.' 

I  cannot  forbear  mentioning  Mr.  Boyle's  remark  upon  this  last 
creature,  who,  I  remember,  somewhere  in  his  works  observes,  that 
though  the  mole  be  not  totally  blind  (as  it  is  commonly  thought)  she 
has  not  sight  enough  to  distinguish  particular  objects.^  Her  eye 
is  said  to  have  but  one  humour  in  it,  which  is  supposed  to  give 
her  the  idea  of  light,  but  of  nothing  else,  and  is  so  formed  that 
this  idea  is  probably  painful  to  the  animal.  Whenever  she  comes 
up  into  broad  day  she  might  be  in  danger  of  being  taken,  unless 
she  were  thus  affected  by  a  light  striking  upon  her  eye,  and  im- 
mediately warning  her  to  bury  herself  in  her  proper  element. 
More  sight  would  be  useless  to  her,  as  none  at  all  might  be  fatal. 

I  have  only  instanced  such  animals  as  seem  the  most  imper- 
fect works  of  nature ;  and  if  providence  shews  itself  even  in  the 
blemishes  of  these  creatures,  how  much  more  does  it  discover  itself 
in  the  several  endowments  which  it  has  variously  bestowed  upon 
such  creatures  as  are  more  or  less  finished  and  compleated  in 
their  several  faculties,  according  to  the  condition  of  life  in  which 
they  are  posted  ? 

I  could  wish  our  Royal  Society  would  compile  a  body  of  na- 
tural history,  the  best  that  could  be  gathered  together  from  books 
and  observations.  If  the  several  writers  among  them  took  each 
his  particular  species,  and  gave  us  a  distinct  account  of  its  origi- 
nal birth  and  education ;  its  policies,  hostilities  and  alliances,  with 
the  frame  and  texture  of  its  inward  and  outward  parts,  and  par- 
ticularly those  that  distinguish  it  from  all  other  animals,  with 
their  peculiar  aptitudes  for  the  state  of  being  in  which  Providence 

^  lu  his  Treatise  on  the  Kature  of  Final  Causes.     Works,  fol.  v.  iv. — Q 


No.  121.] 


SPECTATOR. 


329 


has  placed  them,  it  would  he  one  of  the  best  services  their  stu- 
dies could  do  mankind,  and  not  a  little  redound  to  the  glory  of 
the  all-wise  Contriver. 

It  is  true,  such  a  natural  history,  after  all  the  disquisitions 
of  the  learned,  would  be  infinitely  short  and  defective.  Seas  and 
deserts  hide  millions  of  animals  from  our  observation.  Innumer- 
able artifices  and  stratagems  are  acted  in  the  howling  wilderness 
and  in  the  great  deep^  that  can  never  come  to  our  knowledge. 
Besides  that  there  are  infinitely  more  species  of  creatures  which 
are  not  to  be  seen  without,  nor  indeed  with  the  help  of  the  finest 
glasses,  than  of  such  as  are  bulky  enough  for  the  naked  eye  to 
take  hold  of  However,  from  the  consideration  of  such  animals 
as  lie  within  the  compass  of  our  knowledge,  we  might  easily  form 
a  conclusion  of  the  rest,  that  the  same  variety  of  wisdom  and 
goodness  runs  through  the  whole  creation,  and  puts  every  creature 
in  a  condition  to  provide  for  its  safety  and  subsistence  in  its 
proper  station. 

Tully  has  given  us  an  admirable  sketch  of  natural  history,""  in 
his  second  book,  concerning  the  nature  of  the  gods ;  and  that  in  a 
st^de  so  raised  by  metaphors  and  descriptions,  that  it  lifts  the 
subject  above  raillery  and  ridicule,  which  frequently  fall  on  such 
nice  observations,  when  they  pass  through  the  hands  of  an  ordi- 
nary writer.  L. 

^  How  superficial  is  the  philosophy  of  such  men  as  Cicero  and  Mr.  Ad- 
dison !  A  work  of  the  sort  here  mentioned,  as  reflecting  so  much  honour 
on  the  great  Creator,  has  been  attempted,  in  our  days,  by  a  French  writer 
of  name,  M.  Bufi*on  ;  but  so  much  on  his  guard  against  superstition,  as  not 
to  see  design  in  what  men  had  hitherto  called,  Jinal  causes. — H. 


830 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  122 


No.  122.    FRIDAY,  JULY  20. 

Comes  jucundus  in  via  pro  vehiculo  est. 

Pub.  Sye.  Fkag. 

An  agreeable  companion  on  the  road  is  as  good  as  a  coach. 

A  Man's  first  care  should  be  to  avoid  the  reproaches  of  his 
own  heart ;  his  next,  to  escape  the  censures  of  the  world  :  if  the 
last  interferes  with  the  former,  it  ought  to  be  entirely  neglected  ; 
but  otherwise  there  cannot  be  a  greater  satisfaction  to  an  honest 
mind,  than  to  see  those  approbations  which  it  gives  itself  second- 
ed by  the  applauses  of  the  public  :  a  man  is  more  sure  of  his 
conduct,  when  the  verdict  which  he  passes  upon  his  own  behav- 
iour is  thus  warranted  and  confirmed  by  the  opinion  of  all  that 
know  him. 

My  worthy  friend  Sir  Roger  is  one  of  those  who  is  not  only 
at  peace  within  himself,  but  beloved  and  esteemed  by  all  about 
him.  He  receives  a  suitable  tribute  for  his  universal  benevolence 
to  mankind,  in  the  returns  of  affection  and  good- will  which  are 
paid  him  by  every  one  that  lives  within  his  neighbourhood.  I 
lately  met  with  two  or  three  odd  instances  of  that  general  respect 
which  is  shewn  to  the  good  old  knight.  He  would  needs  carry 
Will  Wimble  and  myself  with  him  to  the  country-assizes  :  as  we 
were  upon  the  road.  Will  Wimble  joined  a  couple  of  plain  men 
'who  rid  before  us,  and  conversed  with  them  for  some  time  ;  during 
which  my  friend  Sir  Iloger  acquainted  me  with  their  characters. 

The  first  of  them,  says  he,  that  has  a  spaniel  by  his  side,  is  a 
yeoman  of  about  an  hundred  pounds  a  year,  an  honest  man  :  he 
is  just  within  the  game  act,^  and  qualified  to  kill  an  hare  or  a 

^  The  3rd  of  James  I,  chap.  14.,  clause  v.,  provides  that  if  any  person  who 
has  not  real  property  producing  forty  pounds  per  annum,  or  who  has  not 
two  hundred  pounds  worth  of  goods  and  chattels,  shall  presume  to  slioot 


No.  122.] 


SPECTATOR. 


331 


pheasant :  he  knocks  down  a  dinner  with  his  gun  twice  or  thrice 
a  week  ;  and  by  that  means  lives  much  cheaper  than  those  who 
have  not  so  good  an  estate  as  himself.  He  would  be  a  good 
neighbour  if  he  did  not  destroy  so  many  partridges  :  in  short,  he 
is  a  very  sensible  man  ;  shoots  flying  ;  and  has  been  several  times 
fore-man  of  the  petty-jury. 

The  other  that  rides  with  him  is  Tom  Touchy,  a  fellow  famous 
for  taking  the  law  of  every  body.  There  is  not  one  in  the  town 
where  he  lives  that  he  has  not  sued  at  a  quarter-sessions.  The 
rogue  had  once  the  impudence  to  go  to  law  with  the  widow.  His 
head  is  full  of  costs,  damages,  and  ejectments  :  he  plagued  a 
couple  of  honest  gentlemen  so  long  for  a  trespass  in  breaking  one 
of  his  hedges,  till  he  was  forced  to  sell  the  ground  it  enclosed  to 
defray  the  charges  of  the  prosecution  :  his  father  left  him  four- 
score pounds  a  year  :  but  he  has  cast  and  been  cast  so  often,  that 
he  is  not  now  worth  thirty.  I  suppose  he  is  going  upon  the  old 
business  of  the  willow-tree. 

As  Sir  Koger  was  giving  me  this  account  of  Tom  Touchy, 
Will  Wimble  and  his  two  companions  stopped  short  till  we  came 
up  to  them.  After  having  paid  their  respects  to  Sir  Eoger,  Will 
told  him  that  Mr.  Touchy  and  he  must  appeal  to  him  upon  a 
dispute  that  arose  between  them.  Will,  it  seems,  had  been  giv- 
ing his  fellow-travellers  an  account  of  his  angling  one  day  in  such  * 
a  hole  ;  when  Tom  Touchy,  instead  of  hearing  out  his  story,  told 

game:  "Then  any  person  having  lands,  tenements,  or  hereditaments,  of  the 
clear  yearly  value  of  one  hundred  pounds  a  3"ear,  may  take  from  the  per- 
son or  possession  of  such  malefactor  or  malefactors,  and  to  his  own  use  for 
ever  keep,  such  guns,  bows,  cross-bows,  buckstalls,  engine-hays,  nets,  fer, 
rets,  and  coney  dogs,  <fec."  This  amiable  enactment — which  permitted  a 
one- hundred-pound-freeholder  to  become  in  his  single  person,  accuser,  wit- 
ness, judge,  jury,  and  executioner ;  and  which  made  an  equally  respect, 
able  but  poorer  man  who  shot  a  hare  a  "malefactor" — was  the  law 
of  the  land  even  so  lately  as  1827,  for  it  was  only  repealed  by  the  'Zth 
and  8th  Geo.  IV.  chap.  * 


832 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  122 


him,  that  Mr.  such  an  one,  if  he  pleased,  might  take  the  law  of  him 
for  fishing  in  that  part  of  the  river.  My  friend  Sir  Roger  heard 
them  both,  upon  a  round  trot,  and  after  having  paused  some  time 
told  them,  with  an  air  of  a  man  who  would  not  give  his  judgment 
rashly,  that  much  might  be  said  on  both  sides.  They  were  nei- 
ther of  them  dissatisfied  with  the  knight's  determination,  because 
neither  of  them  found  himself  in  the  wrong  by  it :  upon  which  we 
made  the  best  of  our  way  to  the  assizes. 

The  court  was  sat  before  Sir  Eoger  came,  but  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  justices  had  taken  their  places  upon  the  bench,  they 
made  room  for  the  old  knight  at  the  head  of  them ;  who,  for  his 
reputation  in  the  country,  took  occasion  to  whisper  in  the  judge's 
ear,  that  he  was  glad  his  lordship  had  met  with  so  much  good 
weather  in  his  circuit.  I  was  listening  to  the  proceedings  of  the 
court  with  much  attention,  and  infinitely  pleased  with  that  great 
appearance  of  solemnity  which  so  properly  accompanies  such 
a  public  administration  of  our  laws  ;  when,  after  about  an  hour's 
sitting,  I  observed,  to  my  great  surprise,  in  the  midst  of  a  trial, 
that  my  friend  Sir  Roger  was  getting  up  to  speak.  I  was  in 
some  pain  for  him,  till  I  found  he  had  acquitted  himself  of  two 
or  three  sentences,  with  a  look  of  much  business  and  great  intre- 
pidity. 

Upon  his  first  rising  the  Court  was  hushed,  and  a  general 
whisper  ran  among  the  country  people  that  Sir  Roger  was  up. 
The  speech  he  made  was  so  little  to  the  purpose,  that  I  shall  not 
trouble  my  readers  with  an  account  of  it ;  and  I  believe  was  not 
so  much  designed  by  the  knight  himself  to  inform  the  court,  as  to 
give  him  a  figure  in  my  eye,  and  keep  up  his  credit  in  the 
country. 

I  was  highly  delighted,  when  the  court  rose,  to  see  the  gen- 
tlemen from  the  country  gathering  about  my  old  friend,  and  striv- 
ing who  should  compliment  him  most ;  at  the  same  time  that  the 


No.  122.]  SPECTATOR.  333 

ordinary  people  gazed  upon  him  at  a  distance,  not  a  little  admir- 
ing his  courage,  that  was  not  afraid  to  speak  to  the  judge. 

In  our  return  home  we  met  with  a  very  odd  accident ;  which 
I  cannot  forbear  relating,  because  it  shews  how  desirous  all  who 
know  Sir  Roger  are  of  giving  him  marks  of  their  esteem.  When 
we  were  arrived  upon  the  verge  of  his  estate,  we  stopped  at  a  lit- 
tle inn  to  rest  ourselves  and  our  horses.  The  man  of  the  house 
had,  it  seems,  been  formerly  a  servant  in  the  knight's  family ;  and 
to  do  honor  to  his  old  master,  had  some  time  since,  un- 
known to  Sir  Roger,  put  him  up  in  a  sign-post  before  the 
door ;  so  that  The  Knight's  Head  had  hung  out  upon  the  road 
about  a  week  before  he  himself  knew  any  thing  of  the  matter.  As 
soon  as  Sir  Roger  was  acquainted  with  it,  finding  that  his  ser- 
vant's indiscretion  proceeded  wholly  from  affection  and  good  will, 
he  only  told  him  that  he  had  made  him  too  high  a  compliment ; 
and  when  the  fellow  seemed  to  think  that  could  hardly  be,  added 
with  a  more  decisive  look,  that  it  was  too  great  an  honour  for  any 
man  under  a  duke  ;  but  told  him  at  the  same  time,  that  it  might 
be  altered  with  a  very  few  touches,  and  that  he  himself  would  be 
at  the  charge  of  it.  Accordingly  they  got  a  painter  by  the  knight's 
directions  to  add  a  pair  of  whiskers  to  the  face,  and  by  a  little 
aggravation  of  the  features  to  change  it  into  the  Saracen's  Head. 
I  should  not  have  known  this  story,  had  not  the  inn-keeper,  upon 
Sir  Roger's  alighting,  told  him  in  my  hearing,  that  his  honour's 
head  was  brought  back  last  night,  with  the  alterations  that  he 
had  ordered  to  be  made  in  it.  Upon  this  my  friend,  with  his 
usual  cheerfulness,  related  the  particulars  above-mentioned,  and 
ordered  the  head  to  be  brought  into  the  room.  I  could  not  for- 
bear discovering  greater  expressions  of  mirth  than  ordinary  upon 
the  appearance  of  this  monstrous  face,  under  which,  notwithstand- 
ing it  was  made  to  frown  and  stare  in  the  most  extraordinary 
manner,  I  could  still  discover  a  distant  resemblance  of  my  old 


334 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  123 


friend.  Sir  Roger  upon  seeing  me  laugh,  desired  me  to  tell  him 
truly  if  I  thought  it  possible  for  people  to  know  him  in  that  dis- 
guise. I  at  jfiirst  kept  my  usual  silence  ;  but  upon  the  knight's 
conjuring  me  to  tell  him  whether  it  was  not  still  more  like  him- 
self than  a  Saracen,  I  composed  my  countenance  in  the  best  man- 
ner I  could,  and  replied,  '  That  much  might  be  said  on  both  sides.' 

These  several  adventures,  with  the  knight's  behaviour  in  them, 
gave  me  as  pleasant a  day  as  ever  I  met  with  in  any  of  my 
travels.  L. 


No.  123.    SATURDAY,  JULY  21. 

Doctrina  sed  vim  promovet  insitam, 
Eectique  cultus  pectora  roborant ; 
Utcunque  defecere  mores, 
Dedecorant  hene  nata  culpa?. 

IIoR.  iv.  Od.  4.  33. 
Yet  the  best  blood  by  learning  is  refin'd, 
And  virtue  arms  the  solid  mind ; 
Whilst  vice  will  stain  the  noblest  race, 
And  the  paternal  stamp  efface. 

Oldisworth. 

As  I  was  yesterday  taking  the  air  with  my  friend  Sir  E-oger, 
we  were  met  by  a  fresh-coloured  ruddy  young  man,  who  rid  by 
us  at  full  speed,  with  a  couple  of  servants  behind  him.  Upon 
my  enquiry  who  he  was,  Sir  Roger  told  me  that  he  was  a  young 
gentleman  of  a  considerable  estate,  who  had  been  educated  by  a 
tender  mother  that  lived  not  many  miles  from  the  place  where 
we  were.  She  is  a  very  good  lady,  says  my  friend,  but  took  so 
much  care  of  her  son's  health,  that  she  has  made  him  good  for 
nothing.  She  quickly  found  that  reading  was  bad  for  his  eyes, 
and  that  writing  made  his  head  ake.    He  was  let  loose  among 

a  Mr.  Addison  could  not  help  giving  himself  this  little  applause,  for  one 
of  the  most  humourous  papers  that  ever  was  written. — H. 


Ko.  123.] 


SPECTATOIl. 


335 


the  woods  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  ride  on  horse-back,  or  to 
carry  a  gun  upon  his  shoulder.  To  be  brief,  I  found,  by  my 
friend's  account  of  him,  that  he  had  got  a  great  stock  of  health, 
but  nothing  else  ;  and  that  if  it  were  a  man's  business  only  to 
live,  there  would  not  be  a  more  accomplished  fellow  in  the  whole 
country. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  since  my  residing  in  these  parts,  I  have 
seen  and  heard  innumerable  instances  of  young  heirs  and  elder 
brothers,  who  either  from  their  own  reflecting  upon  the  estates 
they  are  born  to,  and  therefore  thinking  all  other  accomplish- 
ments unnecessary,  or  from  hearing  these  notions  frequently  in- 
culcated to  them  by  the  flattery  of  their  servants  and  domestics, 
or  from  the  same  foolish  thoughts  prevailing  in  those  who  have 
the  care  of  their  education,  are  of  no  manner  of  use  but  to  keep 
up  their  families,  and  transmit  their  lands  and  houses  in  a  line  to 
posterity. 

This  makes  me  often  think  on  a  story  I  have  heard  of  two 
friends,  which  I  shall  give  my  reader  at  large,  under  feigned 
names.  The  moral  of  it  may,  I  hope,  be  useful,  though  there  are 
some  circumstances  which  make  it  rather  appear  like  a  novel, 
than  a  true  story. 

1  Eudoxus  and  Leontine  began  the  world  with  small  estates. 

'  "  Being  very  well  pleased  with  this  day's  '  Spectator '  (writes  Mr.  Ad- 
dison to  Mr.  Wortley,  under  date  'July  21,  1711.'  V.  vol.  ii.  p.  530),  I  can- 
not forbear  sending  you  one  of  them,  and  desiring  your  opinion  of  the  story 
in  it.  When  you  have  a  son  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  his  Leontine,  as  my  cir- 
cumstances will  probably  be  like  his.  I  have  within  this  twelvemonth 
lost  a  place  of  2000^.  per  annum,  an  estate  in  the  Indies  of  14,000^,  and, 
what  is  worse  than  all  the  rest,  my  mistress.  Hear  this  and  wonder  at  my 
philosophy.  I  find  they  are  going  to  take  away  my  Irish  place  from  me 
too :  to  which  I  must  add,  that  I  have  just  resigned  my  fellowship,  and 
that  the  stocks  sink  every  day.  If  you  have  any  hints  or  subjects,  pray 
send  me  up  a  paper  full.  I  long  to  talk  an  evening  with  you.  I  believe  I 
shall  not  go  to  Ireland  this  summer,  and  perhaps  would  pass  a  month  with 


336 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  123. 


They  were  both  of  them  men  of  good  sense  and  great  virtue. 
They  prosecuted  their  studies  together  in  their  earlier  years,  and 
entered  into  such  a  friendship  as  lasted  to  the  end  of  their  lives. 
Eudoxus,  at  his  first  setting  out  in  the  world,  threw  himself  into 
a  court,  where  by  his  natural  endowments  and  his  acquired  abili- 
ties he  made  his  way  from  one  post  to  another,  till  at  length  he 
had  raised  a  very  considerable  fortune.  Leontine  on  the  con- 
trary sought  all  opportunities  of  improving  his  mind  by  study, 
conversation,  and  travel.  He  was  not  only  acquainted  with  all 
the  sciences,  but  with  the  most  eminent  professors  of  them 
throughout  Europe.  He  knew  perfectly  well  the  interests  of  its 
princes,  with  the  customs  and  fashions  of  their  courts,  and  could 
scarce  meet  with  the  name  of  an  extraordinary  person  in  the  ga- 
zette whom  he  had  not  either  talked  to  or  seen.  In  short,  he  had  so 
well  mixt  and  digested  his  knowledge  of  men  and  books,  that  he 
made  one  of  the  most  accomplished  persons  of  his  age.  During 
the  whole  course  of  his  studies  and  travels  he  kept  up  a  punctual 
correspondence  with  Eudoxus,  who  often  made  himself  acceptable 
to  the  principal  men  about  court  by  the  intelligence  which  he  re- 
ceived from  Leontine.  When  they  were  both  turned  of  forty 
(an  age  in  which,  according  to  Mr.  Cowley,  there  is  no  dallying 
with  life)  they  determined,  pursuant  to  the  resolution  they  had 
taken  in  the  beginning  of  their  lives,  to  retire,  and  pass  the  re- 
mainder of  their  days  in  the  country.  In  order  to  this,  they 
both  of  them  married  much  about  the  same  time.  Leontine, 
with  his  own  and  his  wife's  fortune,  bought  a  farm  of  three  hun- 

you,  if  I  knew  where.  Lady  Bellasis  is  very  much  your  humble  servant. 
Dick  Steele  and  I  often  remember  you." 

Of  the  estate  in  "  the  Indies  " — referred  to  also  by  Swift,  no  intelligible 
notice  has  been  found.  The  mistress  was  probabl}^  the  perverse  Widow, 
the  Countess;  who,  at  that  date,  had  perhaps  cast  him  off  "for  ever" — 
after  the  manner  of  capricious  ladies — several  times  during  a  single  court- 
ship. — * 


No.  123.] 


SPECTATOR. 


337 


dred  a  vear,  which  lay  within  the  neighbourhood  of  his  friend 
Eudoxus,  who  had  purchased  an  estate  of  as  many  thousands. 
They  were  both  of  them  fathers  about  the  same  time,  Eudoxus 
having  a  son  born  to  him,  and  Leontine  a  daughter ;  but,  to  the 
unspeakable  grief  of  the  latter,  his  young  wife  (in  whom  all  his 
happiness  was  wrapt  up)  died  in  a  few  days  after  the  birth  of  her 
daughter.  His  affliction  would  have  been  insupportable,  had  he 
not  been  comforted  by  the  daily  visits  and  conversations  of  his 
friend.  As  they  were  one  day  talking  together  with  their  usual 
intimacy,  Leontine,  considering  how  incapable  he  was  of  giving 
his  daughter  a  proper  education  in  his  own  house,  and  Eudoxus 
reflecting  on  the  ordinary  behaviour  of  a  son  who  knows  himself 
to  be  the  heir  of  a  great  estate,  they  both  agreed  upon  an  ex- 
change of  children,  that  the  boy  should  be  bred  up  with  Leontine 
as  his  son,  and  that  the  girl  should  live  with  Eudoxus  as  his 
daughter,  till  they  were  each  of  them  arrived  at  years  of  discre- 
tion. The  wife  of  Eudoxus,  knowing  that  her  son  could  not  be 
&o  advantageously  brought  up  as  under  the  care  of  Leontine,  and 
considering  at  the  same  time  that  he  would  be  perpetually  under 
her  own  eye,  was  by  degrees  prevailed  upon  to  fall  in  with  the 
project.  She  therefore  took  Leonilla,  for  that  was  the  name  of 
the  girl,  and  educated  her  as  her  own  daughter.  The  two  friends 
on  each  side  had  wrought  themselves  to  such  an  habitual 
tenderness  for  the  children  who  were  under  their  direction, 
that  each  of  them  had  the  real  passion  of  a  father,  where 
the  title  was  but  imaginary.  Florio,  the  name  of  the  young 
heir  that  lived  with  Leontine,  though  he  had  all  the  duty 
and  affection  imaginable  for  his  supposed  parent,  was  taught 
to  rejoice  at  the  si^ht  of  Eudoxus,  who  visited  his  friend  very 
frequently,  and  was  dictated  ^  by  his  natural  affection,  as  well  as 

*  Dictated.  If  used  at  all,  it  should  be  dictated  to  :  but  the  proper  word, 
in  this  place,  is  carried,  or  led. — H. 

VOL.    v. — 15 


338 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  123. 


by  the  rules  of  prudence,  to  make  himself  esteemed  and  beloved 
by  Florio.  The  boy  was  now  old  enough  to  know  his  supposed 
father's  circumstances,  and  that^  therefore  he  was  to  make  his 
way  in  the  world  by  his  own  industry.  This  consideration  grew 
stronger  in  him  every  day,  and  produced  so  good  an  effect,  that 
he  applied  himself  with  more  than  ordinary  attention  to  the  pur- 
suit of  every  thing  which  Leontine  recommended  to  him.  His 
natural  abilities,  which  were  very  good,  assisted  by  the  directions 
of  so  excellent  a  counsellor,  enabled  him  to  make  a  quicker  pro 
gress  than  ordinary  through  all  the  parts  of  his  education.  Be 
fore  he  was  twenty  years  of  age,  having  finished  his  studies  and 
exercises  with  great  applause,  he  was  removed  from  the  university 
to  the  inns  of  court,  where  there  are  very  few  that  make  them 
selves  considerable  proficients  in  the  studies  of  the  place,  who 
know  they  shall  arrive  at  great  estates  without  them.  This  was 
not  Florio's  case ;  he  found  that  three  hundred  a.  year  was  but  a 
poor  estate  for  Leontine  and  himself  to  live  upon,  so  that  he 
studied  without  intermission  till  he  gained  a  very  good  insight 
into  the  constitution  and  laws  of  his  country. 

I  should  have  told  my  reader,  that  whilst  Florio  lived  at  the 
house  of  his  foster-father,  he  was  always  an  acceptable  guest  in 
the  family  of  Eudoxus,  where  he  became  acquainted  with  Leo- 
nilla  from  her  infancy.  His  acquaintance  with  her  by  degrees 
grew  into  love,  which  in  a  mind  trained  up  in  all  the  sentiments 
of  honour  and  virtue  became  a  very  uneasy  passion.  He  de- 
spaired of  gaining  an  heiress  of  so  great  a  fortune,  and  would  ra- 
ther have  died  than  attempted  it  by  any  indirect  methods.  Leo- 
nilla,  who  was  a  woman  of  the  greatest  beauty,  joined  with  the 
greatest  modesty,  entertained  at  the  same  time  a  secret  passion 

^  Know  Ilia  circufnsta7ices,  and  that.  It  is  not  exact  to  make  two  such 
different  forms  of  construction  dependent  on  the  same  verb.  Better  thus  : 
"  to  know  his  supposed  father  s  circumstances,  and  the  necessity  he  was  binder  of 
making,''  <fec.  —  II. 


No.  123.] 


SPECTATOR. 


339 


for  Florio,  bat  conducted  herself  with  so  much  prudence  that  she 
never  gave  him  the  least  intimation  of  it.  Florio  was  now  en- 
gaged in  all  those  arts  and  improvements  that  are  proper  to  raise 
a  man's  private  fortune,  and  give  him  a  figure  in  his  country,  but 
secretly  tormented  with  that  passion  which  burns  with  the  great- 
est fury  in  a  virtuous  and  noble  heart,  when  he  received  a  sud- 
den summons  from  Leontine  to  repair  to  him  into  the  country 
the  next  day.  For  it  seems  Eudoxus  was  so  filled  with  the  re- 
port of  his  son's  reputation,  that  he  could  no  longer  withhold 
making  himself  known  to  him.  The  morning  after  his  arrival  at 
the  house  of  his  supposed  father,  Leontine  told  him  that  Eu- 
doxus had  something  of  great  importance  to  communicate  to  him  : 
upon  which  the  good  man  embraced  him,  and  wept.  Florio  was 
no  sooner  arrived  at  the  great  house  that  stood  in  his  neighbour- 
hood, but  Eudoxus  took  him  by  the  hand,  after  the  first  salutes 
were  over,  and  conducted  him  into  his  closet.  He  there  opened 
to  him  the  whole  secret  of  his  parentage  and  education,  conclud- 
ing after  this  manner,  ^  I  have  no  other  way  left  of  acknowledg- 
ing my  gratitude  to  Leontine,  than  by  marrying  you  to  his  daugh- 
ter. He  shall  not  lose  the  pleasure  of  being  your  father,  by  the 
discovery  I  have  made  to  you.  Leonilla  too  shall  be  still  my 
daughter ;  her  filial  piety,  though  misplaced,  has  been  so  exem- 
plary that  it  deserves  the  greatest  reward  I  can  confer  upon  it. 
You  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  great  estate  fuli  to  you, 
which  3^ou  would  have  lost  the  relish  of,  had  you  known  yourself 
born  to  it.  Continue  only  to  deserve  it  in  the  same  manner  you 
did  before  you  were  possessed  of  it.  I  have  left  your  mother  in 
the  next  room.  Her  heart  yearns  towards  you.  She  is  making 
the  same  discoveries  to  Leonilla  which  I  have  made  to  yourself 
Florio  was  so  overwhelmed  with  this  profusion  of  happiness,  that 
he  was  not  able  to  make  a  reply,  but  threw  himself  down  at  his 
*    Salutations'*  is  better. — H. 


340 


SPECTATOR. 


[N(  124. 


father's  feet,  and  amidst  a  flood  of  tears,  kissed  and  embraced 
his  knees,  asking  his  blessing,  and  expressing  in  dumb  show  those 
sentiments  of  love,  duty,  and  gratitude,  that  were  too  big  for  ut- 
terance. To  conclude,  the  happy  pair  were  married,  and  half 
Eudoxus'  estate  settled  upon  them.  Leontine  and  Eudoxus 
passed  the  remainder  of  their  lives  together  ;  and  received  in  the 
dutiful  and  affectionate  behaviour  of  Florio  and  Leonilla  the  just 
recompence,  as  well  as  the  natural  effects  of  that  care  which  they 
had  bestowed  upon  them  in  their  education  L. 


No.  124.    MONDAY,  JULY  23. 

Meya  (3i0\iou,  fxeya.  kukou. 
A  great  book  is  a  gi'eat  evil. 

A  MAN  who  publishes  his  works  in  a  volume,  has  an  infinite 
advantage  over  one  who  communicates  his  writings  to  the  world 
in  loose  tracts  and  single  pieces.  We  do  not  expect  to  meet  with 
any  thing  in  a  bulky  volume,  till  after  some  heavy  preamble,  and 
several  words  of  course  to  prepare  the  reader  for  what  follows  : 
nay,  authors  have  established  it  as  a  kind  of  rule  that  a  man 
ought  to  be  dull  sometimes ;  as  the  most  severe  reader  makes 
allowances  for  many  rests  and  noddin^-places  in  a  voluminous 
writer.  This  gave  occasion  to  the  famous  Greek  proverb  which 
I  have  chosen  for  my  motto,  '  that  a  great  book  is  a  great  evil.' 

On  the  contrary,  those  who  publish  their  thoughts  in  dis- 
tinct sheets,  and  as  it  were  by  piece-meal,  have  none  of  these 
advantages.  We  must  immediately  fall  into  our  subject,  and 
treat  every  part  of  it  in  a  lively  manner,  or  our  papers  are  thrown 
by  as  dull  and  insipid  :  our  matter  must  lie  close  together,  and 
either  be  wholly  new  in  itself,  or  in  the  turn  it  receives  from 


Ho.  124.] 


SPECTATOR. 


34] 


our  expressions.  Were  the  books  of  our  best  authors  thus  to  be 
retailed  to  the  public,  and  every  page  submitted  to  the  taste  of 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  readers,  I  am  afraid  we  should  complain 
of  many  flat  expressions,  trivial  observations,  beaten  topics,  and 
common  thoughts,  which  go  off'  very  well  in  the  lump.  At  the 
same  time,  notwithstanding  some  papers  may  be  made  up  of 
broken  hints  and  irregular  sketches,  it  is  often  expected  that 
every  sheet  should  be  a  kind  of  treatise,  and  make  out  in  thought 
what  it  wants  in  bulk  :  that  a  point  of  humour  should  be  worked 
up  in  all  its  parts ;  and  a  subject  touched  upon  in  its  most  essen- 
tial articles,  without  the  repetitions,  tautologies,  and  enlarge- 
ments that  are  indulged  to  longer  labours.  The  ordinary  writers 
of  morality  prescribe  to  their  readers  after  the  Galenic  way  ; 
their  medicines  are  made  up  in  large  quantities.  An  essay  writer 
must  practise  in  the  chymical  method,  and  give  the  virtue  of  a 
full  draught  in  a  few  drops.  Were  all  books  reduced  thus  to 
their  quintessence,  many  a  bulky  author  would  make  his  appear- 
ance in  a  penny  paper  :  there  would  be  scarce  such  a  thing  in 
nature  as  a  folio  :  the  works  of  an  age  would  be  contained  on  a 
few  shelves ;  not  to  mention  millions  of  volumes  that  would  be 
utterly  annihilated. 

I  cannot  think  that  the  difficulty  of  furnishing  out  separate 
papers  of  this  nature,  has  hindered  authors  from  communicating 
their  thoughts  to  the  world  after  such  a  manner :  though  I  must 
confess  I  am  amazed  that  the  press  should  be  only  made  use  of 
in  this  way  by  news-writers,  and  the  zealots  of  parties:  as  if  it 
were  not  more  advantageous  to  mankind,  to  be  instructed  in 
wisdom  and  virtue,  than  in  politics  ;  and  to  be  made  good  fathers, 
husbands,  and  sons,  than  counsellors  and  statesmen.  Had  the 
philosophers  and  great  men  of  antiquity,  who  took  so  much  pains 
in  order  to  instruct  mankind,  and  leave  the  world  wiser  and 
better  than  they  found  it ;  had  they,  I  say,  been  possessed  of  the 


342 


SPECTATOR. 


[Xo.  124. 


art  of  printing,  there  is  no  question  but  tliey  would  have  made 
such  an  advantage  of  it,  in  dealing  out  their  lectures  to  the 
public.  Our  common  prints^  would  be  of  great  use,  were  they 
thus  calculated  to  diffuse  good  sense  through  the  bulk  of  a 
people,  to  clear  up  their  understandings,  animate  their  minds 
with  virtue,  dissipate  the  sorrows  of  a  heavy  heart,  or  unbend  the 
mind  from  its  more  severe  employments  with  innocent  amuse- 
ments. When  knowledge,  instead  of  being  bound  up  in  books, 
and  kept  in  libraries  and  retirements,  is  thus  obtruded  upon  the 
public ;  when  it  is  canvassed  in  every  assembly,  and  exposed 
upon  every  table  ;  I  cannot  forbear  reflecting  upon  that  passage 
in  the  Proverbs,  '  Wisdom  crieth  without :  she  uttereth  her 
voice  in  the  streets ;  she  crieth  in  the  chief  place  of  concourse,  in 
the  openings  of  the  gates.  In  the  city  she  uttereth  her  words, 
saying,  How  long,  ye  simple  ones,  will  ye  love  simplicity  ?  and 
the  scorners  delight  in  their  scorning  ?  and  fools  hate  know- 
ledge ?  ' 

The  many  letters  which  come  to  me  from  persons  of  the  best 
sense  in  both  sexes,  (for  I  may  pronounce  their  characters  from 
their  way  of  writing)  do  not  a  little  encourage  me  in  the  prose- 
cution of  this  my  undertaking :  besides  that,  my  bookseller  tells 
me,  the  demand  for  these  my  papers  increases  daily.  It  is  at  his 
instance  that  I  shall  continue  my  rural  speculations  to  the  end 
of  this  month ;  several  having  made  up  separate  sets  of  them, 
as  they  have  done  before  of  those  relating  to  wit,  to  operas,  to 
points  of  morality,  or  subjects  of  humour. 

I  am  not  at  all  mortified,  when  sometimes  I  see  my  works 
thrown  aside  by  men  of  no  taste  nor  learning.  There  is  a  kind 
of  heaviness  and  ignorance  that  hangs  upon  the  minds  of  ordi- 
nary men,^  which  is  too  thick  for  knowledge  to  break  through  : 
their  souls  are  not  to  be  enlightened, 

^  Newspapers. — C. 


No.  124.] 


SPECTATOR. 


343 


 Nox  atra  cava  circumvolat  nmbra.    ^n.  ii.  360. 

Black  night  enwraps  them  in  her  gloomy  shade. 

To  these  I  must  apply  the  fable  of  the  mole.  That  after 
having  consulted  many  oculists  for  the  bettering  of  his  sight,  was 
at  last  provided  with  a  good  pair  of  spectacles ;  but  upon  his 
endeavouring  to  make  use  of  them,  his  mother  told  him  very 
prudently,  "  That  spectacles,  though  they  might  help  the  eye  of 
a  man,  could  be  of  no  use  to  a  mole."  It  is  not  therefore  for  the 
benefit  of  moles  that  I  publish  these  my  daily  essays. 

But  besides  such  as  are  moles  through  ignorance,  there  are 
others  who  are  moles  through  envy.  As  it  is  said  in  the  Latin 
proverb,  "  That  one  man  is  a  wolf  to  another;"^  so  generally 
speaking,  one  author  is  a  mole  to  another  author.  It  is  impossi- 
ble for  them  to  discover  beauties  in  one  another's  works;  they 
have  eyes  only  for  spots  and  blemishes :  they  can  indeed  see  the 
light,  as  it  is  said  of  the  animals  which  are  their  namesakes,  but 
the  idea  of  it  is  painful  to  them ;  they  immediately  shut  their 
eyes  upon  it,  and  withdraw  themselves  into  a  wilful  obscurity. 
T  have  already  caught  two  or  three  of  these  dark  undermining 
vermin,  and  intend  to  make  a  string  of  them,  in  order  to  hang 
them  up  in  one  of  my  papers,  as  an  example  to  all  such  volun- 
tary moles.  C. 

*  Homo  homini  lupus. 

Plaut.  Asin,  Act  II.  sc.  4. — C. 


344 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  125. 


No.  125.    TUESDAY,  JULY  24. 

Ne  pueri,  ne  tanta  animis  assuescite  bella : 
Neu  patriie  validas  in  viscera  vertite  vires. 

ViRG.  ^n.  vi.  832. 
Embrace  again  my  sons ;  be  foes  no  more, 
Nor  stain  your  country  with  her  children's  gore. 

Dryden. 

My  worthy  friend  Sir  Roger,  when  we  are  talking  of  the 
malice  of  parties,  very  frequently  tells  us  an  accident  that 
happened  to  him  when  he  was  a  school-boy,  which  was  at  a  time 
when  the  feuds  ran  high  between  the  Round-heads  and  Cavaliers. 
This  worthy  knight  being  then  but  a  stripling,  had  occasion  to 
inquire  which  was  the  way  to  St.  Anne's-Lane,^  upon  which  the 
person  whom  he  spoke  to,  instead  of  answering  his  question,  called 
him  a  young  popish  cur,  and  asked  him  who  had  made  Anne  a 
saint !  The  boy  being  in  some  confusion,  inquired  of  the  next  he 
met,  which  was  the  way  to  Anne's-Lane;  but  was  called  a  prick- 
eared  cur  for  his  pains,  and  instead  of  being  shewn  the  way,  was 
told,  that  she  had  been  a  saint  before  he  was  born,  and  would  be 
one  after  he  was  hanged.  Upon  this,  says  Sir  Roger,  I  did  not 
think  fit  to  repeat  the  former  question,  but  going  into  every  lane 
of  the  neighbourhood,  asked  what  they  called  the  name  of  that 
lane.  By  which  ingenious  artifice  he  found  out  the  place  he  in- 
quired after,  without  giving  ofi'ence  to  any  party.  Sir  Roger 
generally  closes  this  narrative  with  reflections  on  the  mischief 
that  parties  do  in  the  country  f  how  they  spoil  good  neighbour- 

1  There  Avere  two  St.  Anne's  Lanes  which  might  have  cost  Sir 
Roger  trouble  to  find;  one  "on  the  north  side  of  St.  MartinVle-Grand, 
just  within  Aldersgate  Street,"  (Stow);  and  the  otlier — which  it  requires 
sharp  eyes  to  find  in  Strype's  map — turning  out  of  Great  Petei-  Street, 
Westminster.  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham,  in  his  admirable  Handbook  for  Lon- 
don, prefers  supposing  Sir  Roger  enquiring  his  way  in  Westminster. — ^ 
^  There  is  scarcely  a  period  when  party  spirit  raged  so  fiercely  as  at  the 


No.  125.] 


SPECTATOR 


hood,  and  make  honest  gentlemen  hate  one  another ;  besides  that 
they  manifestly  tend  to  the  prejudice  of  the  land- tax,  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  game. 

date  of  these  numbers  of  the  "Spectator;"  for,  although  faction  had  long 
sheathed  the  sword,  the  tongue  in  coffee-houses  and  the  pen  in  pamphlets 
were  never  more  bitterly  or  rancorously  employed.  Only  a  few  months 
previously,  the  trial  of  Dr.  Sachevrel  and  the  "bed-chamber  cabal" — of 
which  Mrs.  Masham  was  chief — had  overturned  the  Godolphin  ministry  ; 
and  had  brought  in  the  Tories  with  Harley  at  their  head,  backed  by  a  new 
and  eminently  Tory  House  of  Commons,  with  Whiggery  enough  in  the 
Upper  House  and  in  the  camai  illa  to  keep  the  flames  of  party  in  full  glow. 
So  nearly  were  sides  balanced  in  the  House  of  Lords,  that  to  carry  the 
peace  project,  which  ended  in  the  treatj^  of  Utrecht,  Anne  was  obliged  to 
make  twelve  new  Tory  peers, — a  "jury"  of  such  .well-packed  Tories,  that 
a  Whig  wit  asked  one  of  them  if  they  intended  to  vote  by  their  "  foreman." 
The  Duchess  of  Somerset  was  still  retained  about  the  person  of  the  queen; 
and  counteracted,  in  part,  the  subtle  Tor}^  whisperings  of  Mrs.  Masham  into 
Anne's  ear.  The  lucrative  employments  of  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough 
were  divided  between  these  two  favourites.  The  duke  was  on  the  eve  of 
being  iuipeached  for  peculation,  and  his  regiment  had  actually  been  trans- 
ferred to  Hill,  Mrs.  Masham's  brother.  The  Whigs  violently  advocated  the 
continuance  of  a  war  which  Marlborough's  victories  had  made  at  once  so 
profitable  to  his  private  fortune  and  so  glorious  to  the  nation.  The  Tories 
and  the  queen  strove  equally  for  peace:  nor  did  this  contest  suspend  the 
church  controversy  which  Sachevrel's  trial  had  brought  to  issue  without 
deciding. 

These  questions  ranged  the  British  public  into  two  ranks,  under  Whig 
and  Tory  banners;  and  carried  the  battle  into  private  life  in  the  manner 
not  less  truthfully  than  humorously  described  in  the  text,  and  in  various 
other  chapters  of  the  "Spectator."  Families  were  estranged  and  friend- 
ships broken  up,  especially  amongst  those  who  played  prominent  parts  in 
the  struggle — such  as  Sw^ift  on  the  Torv,  and  Addison  and  Steele  on  the 
Whig  side.  Yet  it  is  gratifying  to  observe,  that  the  softening  influences  of 
literature  afforded  a  lingering  link  of  union  to  these  men  even  after  they 
were  in  poUtical  opposition.  Swift,  the  foremost  }»arty  pamphleteer  of  hi^ 
day,  did  not  scruple  to  use  his  influence  with  Harle}^,  in  favour  of  "  Pastoral  " 
Philips,  Congreve,  and  on  one  occasion  for  Steele — all  Whigs.  On  the  day 
of  publication  of  the  paper  which  forms  part  of  oui'  present  chapter,  (Thurs- 
day, July  26th,  1711),  Swift,  Addison,  and  Steele,  dined  together  at  young 
Jacob  Tonson's,  "Mr.  Addison  and  I  talked  as  usual,  and  as  if  weliad  seen 
one  another  yesterday;  and  Steele  and  I  were  veiy  easy,  tliough  I  wrote 
him  a  biting  letter  in  answer  to  one  of  his,  where  he  desired  me  to  recora- 

voi:.    V. — 15* 


346 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  125 


There  cannot  a  greater  judgment  befal  a  country  than  such  a 
dreadful  spirit  of  division  as  rends  a  government  into  two  distinct 
people,  and  makes  them  greater  strangers  and  more  averse  to  one 

mend  a  friend  of  his  to  the  lord  treasurer."  Again,  under  a  later  date, 
Swift  writes  to  Stella,  ''I  met  Pastoral  Philips  and  Mr.  Addison  on  the 
Mall  to-da}^  and  took  a  turn  with  them;  but  they  k)oked  terribly  dry  and 
cokl.    A  curse  on  party!" 

The  bonds  of  other  classes  of  society  were  more  forcibly  riven.  The 
lower  the  grade  the  more  inveterate  the  contention  :  for,  as  Pope  said  about 
that  time,  "There  never  w^as  any  party,  faction,  sect,  or  cabal  whatsoever, 
in  which  the  most  ignorant  were  not  the  most  violent ;  for  a  bee  is  not  a 
busier  animal  than  a  blockhead."  Even  trade  was  tainted  by  the  poison 
of  party.  The  buying,  in  its  dealings  with  the  selling  public,  more  gene- 
rally enquired  into  the  political  jirinciples  of  tradesmen,  than  into  the  ex- 
cellence or  defects  of  their  wares.  Inn-keepers,  as  we  find  in  the  text, 
were  especially  subjected  to  this  rule,  and  their  politics  were  known  by 
the  signs  at  their  dooi-s.  The  introduction  of  Addison's  "  Fre<'holder  "  to 
the  Tory  fox-hunter  was  accompanied  by  the  recommendation  of  a  host — 
*' A  lusty  fellow,  that  lives  well,  is  at  least  three  yards  in  the  girt,  and  is 
the  best  Church  of  England  man  upon  the  road." 

Not  the  hast  conspicuous  partizans  were,  alas,  of  the  gentler  sex  ;  for 
the  chiefs  of  each  faction  were  women,  and  their  theatre  of  wai-  the  queen's 
bedchamber.  The  petty  expedients  of  each  faction  to  distinguish  itself  in 
public  from  the  other,  are  hapjaly  ridiculed  in  various  parts  of  the  "Spec- 
tator." At  the  play  Whig  and  Tory  ladies  sat  at  opposite  sides  of  the 
house,  and  "  patched"  on  opposite  sides  of  their  faces  : — "  I  must  here  take 
notice,  that  Rosalinda,  a  famous  Whig  partizan,  has  mo&t  unforlunateh'  a 
very  beautiful  mole  on  the  Tory  part  of  hei*  forehead :  which,  being  very 
conspicuous,  has  occasioned  many  mistakes,  and  given  an  liandle  to  her 
enemies  to  misrepresent  her  face,  as  though  it  had  revolted  from  the  Whig 
interest.  But  whatever  this  natural  patch  may  seem  to  insinuate,  it  is  well 
known  that  her  notions  of  government  are  still  the  same.  This  unlucky 
mole,  however,  has  misled  several  coxcombs  ;  and  like  the  hanging  out  of 
false  colours,  made  some  of  them  converse  with  Rosalinda  in  what  they 
thought  the  spirit  of  her  party,  when  on  a  sudden  she  has  given  them  un 
unexpected  fire,  that  has  sunk  them  all  at  once.  If  Rosalinda  is  unfortunate 
in  her  mole,  Nigranilla  is  as  unhappy  in  a  pimple,  w^hich  forces  her, 
against  her  inclination,  to  patch  on  the  Whig  side."    No.  81. 

So  angry  were  the  Whig  ladies  with  the  queen  when  she  presented 
Prince  Eugene  with  a  jewelled  swt^rd,  that  tlie}'  abstained  in  a  body  from 
appearing  at  court  on  th.at  occasion  ;  which  being  that  of  her  majesty's 
birthday  was  evidence  of  unprecedented  j^ai'ty  rancour. — * 


^'^o.  125.]  SPECTATOR.  347 

another,  than  if  they  were  actually  two  different  nations.  The 
effects  of  such  a  division  are  pernicious  to  the  last  degree, 
not  only  with  regard  to  those  advantages  which  they  give  the  com- 
mon enemy,  but  to  those  private  evils  which  they  produce  in 
the  heart  of  almost  every  particular  person.  This  influence 
is  very  fatal  both  to  men's  morals  and  their  understandings  ;  it 
sinks  the  virtue  of  a  nation,  and  not  only  so,  but  destroys  even 
common  sense. 

A  furious  party-spirit,  when  it  rages  in  its  full  violence,  exerts 
itself  in  civil  war  and  bloodshed  ;  and  when  it  is  under  its  great- 
est restraints,  naturally  breaks  out  in  falsehood,  detraction, 
calumny,  and  a  partial  administration  of  justice.  In  a  word,  it 
fills  a  nation  with  spleen  and  rancour,  and  extinguishes  all  the 
seeds  of  good-nature,  compassion,  and  humanity. 

Plutarch  says  very  finely,  that  a  man  should  not  allow  himself 
to  hate  even  his  enemies,  because,  says  he,  if  you  indulge  this  pas- 
sion in  some  occasions,  it  will  rise  of  itself  in  others  ;  if  you  hate 
your  enemies,  you  will  contract  such  a  vicious  habit  of  mind,  as 
by  degrees  will  break  out  upon  those  who  are  your  friends 
or  those  who  are  indifferent  to  you.  I  might  here  observe  how 
admirably  this  precept  of  morality  (which  derives  the  malignity 
of  hatred  from  the  passion  itself,  and  not  from  its  object)  answers 
to  that  great  rule  which  was  dictated  to  the  world  about  an 
hundred  years  before  this  philosopher  wrote ;  but  instead  of  that, 
I  shall  only  take  notice,  with  a  real  grief  of  heart,  that  the  minds 
of  many  good  men  among  us  appear  soured  with  party-principles, 
and  alienated  from  one  another  in  such  a  manner,  as  seems  to  me 
altogether  inconsistent  with  the  dictates  either  of  reason  or 
religion.  Zeal  for  a  public  cause  is  apt  to  breed  passions  in  the 
hearts  of  virtuous  persons,  to  which  tl.e  regard  of*  their  own 
private  interest  would  never  have  betnsyed  them. 

a  The  regard  of,  I  would  rathei-  say  '  a  regard  for.'" 


348  SPECTATOR.  [No.  125. 

If  this  party  spirit  lias  so  ill  an  effect  on  our  morals,  it  has 
likewise  a  very  great  one  upon  our  judgments.  "VYe  often  hear  a 
poor  insipid  paper  or  pamphlet  cried  up.  and  sometimes  a  noble 
piece  depreciated  by  those  who  are  of  a  different  principle  from 
the  author.  One  who  is  actuated  by  this  spirit,  is  almost  under 
an  incapacity  of  discerning  either  real  blemishes  or  beauties.  A 
man  of  merit  in  a  different  principle,  is  like  an  object  seen  in  two 
different  mediums,  that  appears  crooked  or  broken,  however 
straight  and  entire  it  may  be  in  itself.  For  this  reason  there  is 
scarce  a  person  of  any  figure  in  England,  who  does  not  go  by  two 
contrary  characters,  as  opposite  to  one  another  as  light  and  dark- 
ness. Knowledge  and  learning  suffer  in  a  particular  manner 
from  this  strange  prejudice,  which  at  present  prevails  amongst  all 
ranks  and  degrees  in  the  British  nation.  As  men  formerly 
became  eminent  in  learned  societies  by  their  parts  and  acquisi- 
tions, they  now  distinguish  themselves  by  the  warmth  and 
violence  with  which  they  espouse  their  respective  parties.  Books 
are  valued  upon  the  like  considerations  :  an  abusive  scurrilous 
style  passes  for  satire,  and  a  dull  scheme  of  party-notions  is  called 
fine  writing. 

There  is  one  piece  of  sophistry  practised  by  both  sides,  and 
that  is  the  taking  any  scandalous  story  that  has  been  ever 
whispered  or  invented  of  a  private  man,  for  a  known  undoubted 
truth,  and  raising  suitable  speculations  upon  it.  Calumnies  that 
have  been  never  proved,  or  have  been  often  refuted,  are  the 
ordinary  postulatums  of  these  infamous  scribblers,  upon  which 
they  proceed  as  upon  first  principles  granted  by  all  men,  though 
in  their  hearts  they  know  they  are  false,  or  at  best  very  doubtful. 
When  they  have  laid  these  foundations  of  scurrility,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  their  superstructure  is  every  way  answerable  to 
them.    If  this  shameless  practice  of  the  present  age  endures 


No.  125.] 


SPECTATOR. 


349 


much  longer,  praise  and  reproach  will  cease  to  be  motives 
of  action  in  good  men. 

There  are  certain  periods  of  time  in  all  governments  when  this 
inhuman  spirit  prevails.  Italy  was  long  torn  in  pieces  by  the 
Guelfes  and  Gibelines,  and  France  by  those  who  were  for 
and  against  the  League  ;  but  it  is  very  unhappy  for  a  man  to  be 
born  in  such  a  stormy  and  tempestuous  season.  It  is  the  restless 
ambition  of  artful  men  that  thus  breaks  a  people  into  factions, 
and  draws  several  well-meaning  persons  to  their  interest  by 
a  specious  concern  for  their  country.  How  many  honest  minds 
are  filled  with  uncharitable  and  barbarous  notions,  out  of  their 
zeal  for  the  public  good  ?  What  cruelties  and  outrages  would 
they  not  commit  against  men  of  an  adverse  party,  whom  they 
would  honour  and  esteem,  if  instead  of  considering  them  as  they 
are  represented,  they  knew  them  as  they  are  ?  Thus  are  persons 
of  the  greatest  probity  seduced  into  shameful  errors  and  preju- 
dices, and  made  bad  men  even  by  that  noblest  of  principles,  the 
love  of  their  country.  I  cannot  here  forbear  mentioning  the 
famous  Spanish  proverb,  '  If  there  were  neither  fools  nor  knaves 
in  the  world,  all  people  would  be  of  one  mind.' 

For  my  own  part,  I  could  heartily  wish  that  all  honest  men 
would  enter  into  an  association,  for  the  support  of  one  another 
against  the  endeavours  of  those  whom  they  ought  to  look  upon  as 
their  common  enemies,  whatsoever  side  they  may  belong  to. 
Were  there  such  an  honest  body  of  neutral  forces,  we  should 
never  see  the  worst  of  men  in  great  figures  of  life,  because  they 
are  useful  to  a  party  ;  nor  the  best  unregarded,  because  they  are 
above  practising  those  methods  which  would  be  grateful  to  their 
faction.  We  should  then  single  every  criminal  out  of  the  herd, 
and  hunt  him  down,  however  formidable  and  overgrown  he  might 
appear  :  on  the  contrary,  we  should  shelter  distressed  innocence 
and  defend  virtue,  however  beset  with  contempt  or  ridicule,  envy 


350 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  O  R 


[No.  126. 


or  defamation.  In  short,  we  should  not  any  longer  regard  our 
fellow-subjects  as  Whigs  and  Tories,  but  should  make  the  man  of 
merit  our  friend,  and  the  villain  our  enemy.  C. 


No.  126.   WEDNESDAY,  JULY  25. 

Tros  Eutulusvo  fuat,  nullo  discrimine  habebo. 

ViRG.  ^n.  X.  108. 
Eutulians,  Trojans  aro  the  same  to  me. 

Dryden. 

In  my  yesterday's  paper  I  proposed,  that  the  honest  men  of 
all  parties  should  enter  into  a  kind  of  association  for  the  defence 
of  one  another,  and  the  confusion  of  their  common  enemies.  As 
it  is  designed  this  neutral  body  should  act  with  a  regard  to  noth- 
ing but  truth  and  equity,  and  divest  themselves  of  the  little  heats 
and  prepossessions  that  cleave  to  parties  of  all  kinds,  I  have  pre- 
pared for  them  the  following  form  of  an  association,  which  may 
express  their  intentions  in  the  most  plain  and  simple  manner. 

'  We  whose  names  are  hereunto  subscribed,  do  solemnly  de- 
clare, that  we  do  in  our  consciences  believe  two  and  two  make 
four ;  and  that  wo  shall  adjudge  any  man  whatsoever  to  be  our 
enemy,  who  endeavours  to  persuade  us  to  the  contrary.  We  are 
likewise  ready  to  maintain,  with  the  hazard  of  all  that  is  near 
and  dear  to  us,  that  six  is  less  than  seven  in  all  times  and  all 
places ;  and  that  ten  will  not  be  more  three  years  hence  than  it  is 
at  present.  We  do  also  firmly  declare,  that  it  is  our  resolution 
as  long  as  we  live,  to  call  black  black,  and  white  white.  And  we 
shall  upon  all  occasions  oppose  such  persons  that  upon  any  day  of 
the  year  shall  call  black  white,  or  white  black,  with  the  utmost 
peril  of  our  lives  and  fortunes.' 


No.  126.] 


SPECTATOR. 


351 


Were  there  such  a  combination  of  honest  men,  who,  without 
any  regard  to  places,  would  endeavour  to  extirpate  all  such  furi- 
ous zealots  as  would  sacrifice  one  half  of  their  country  to  the  pas- 
sion and  interest  of  the  other  :  as  also  such  infamous  hypocrites, 
that  are  for  promoting  their  own  advantage,  under  colour  of  the 
public  good  ;  with  all  the  profligate  immoral  retainers  to  each  side, 
that  have  nothing  to  recommend  them  but  an  implicit  submission 
to  their  leaders ;  we  should  soon  see  that  furious  party-spirit  ex- 
tinguished, which  may  in  time  expose  us  to  the  derision  and  con- 
tempt of  all  the  nations  about  us. 

A  member  of  this  society,  that  would  thus  carefully  employ 
himself  in  making  room  for  merit,  by  throwing  down  the  worth- 
less and  depraved  part  of  mankind  from  those  conspicuous  sta- 
tions of  life  to  which  they  have  been  sometimes  advanced,  and  all 
this  without  any  regard  to  his  private  interest,  w^ould  be  no  small 
benefactor  to  his  country. 

I  remember  to  have  read  in  Diodorus  Siculus,^  an  account  of 
a  very  active  little  animal,  which  I  think  he  calls  the  Ichneumon, 
that  makes  it  the  whole  business  of  his  life  to  break  the  eggs  of 
the  crocodile,  which  he  is  always  in  search  after.  This  instinct 
is  the  more  remarkable,  because  the  Ichneumon  never  feeds  upon 
the  eggs  he  has  broken,  nor  any  other  way  finds  his  account  in 
them.  Were  it  not  for  the  incessant  labours  of  this  industrious 
animal,  j^gypt  (says  the  historian)  would  be  over-run  with  croc- 
odiles ;  for  the  Egyptians  are  so  far  from  destroying  those  per- 
nicious creatures,  that  they  worship  them  as  gods. 

If  we  look  into  the  behaviour  of  ordinary  partizans,  we  shall 
find  them  far  from  resembling  this  disinterested  animal ;  and 
rather  acting  after  the  example  of  tke  wild  Tartars,  who  are  am- 
bitious of  destroying  a  man  of  the  most  extraordinary  parts  and 
accomplishments,  as  thinking  that,  upon  his  decease,  the  same 

1  Bib.  Lib.  i.  s.  35.  ed.  Wesseling.  foi.  1746.— C. 


352 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  126 


talents,  whatever  post  they  qualified  him  for^  enter  of  course 
into  his  destroyer. 

As  in  the  whole  train  of  my  speculations,  I  have  endeavoured, 
as  much  as  I  am  able,  to  extinguish  that  pernicious  spirit  of  pas- 
sion and  prejudice,  which  rages  with  the  same  violence  in  all 
parties,  I  am  still  the  more  desirous  of  doing  some  good  in  this 
particular,  because  I  observe  that  the  spirit  of  party  reigns  more 
in  the  country  than  in  the  town.  It  here  contracts  a  kind  of 
brutality  and  rustic  fierceness,  to  which  men  of  a  politer  conver- 
sation are  wholly  strangers.  It  extends  itself  even  to  the  return 
of  the  bow  and  the  hat ;  and  at  the  same  time  that  the  heads  of 
parties  preserve  towards  one  another  an  outward  shew  of  good 
breeding,  and  keep  up  a  perpetual  intercourse  of  civilities,  their 
tools  that  are  dispersed  in  these  outlying  parts,  will  not  so  much 
as  mingle  together  at  a  cock-match.  This  humour  fills  the  country 
with  several  periodical  meetings  of  Whig  jockeys  and  Tory  fox- 
hunters  ;  not  to  mention  the  innumerable  curses,  frowns,  and  whis 
pers,  it  produces  at  a  quarter-sessions. 

I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  observed  in  any  of  my  formei 
papers,  that  my  friends.  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  and  Sir  Andrew 
Freeport,  are  of  different  principles  ;  the  first  of  them  inclined 
to  the  landed,  and  the  other  to  the  moneyed  interest.  This  hu- 
mour is  ^0  moderate  in  each  of  them,  that  it  proceeds  no  farther 
than  to  an  agreeable  raillery,  which  very  often  diverts  the  rest  of 
the  club.  I  find,  however,  that  the  knight  is  a  much  stronger 
Tory  in  the  country  than  in  town,  which,  as  he  has  told  me  in  my 
ear,  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  keeping  up  his  interest.  In 
all  our  journey  from  London  to  his  house,  we  did  not  so  much  as 
bait  at  a  Whig-inn  ;  or  if  by  chance  the  coachman  stopped  at  a 
wrong  place,  one  of  Sir  Roger's  servants  would  ride  up  to  his 
master  full  speed,  and  whisper  to  him  that  tlie  master  of  the 
house  was  against  such  an  one  in  the  last  election.     This  often 


No.  126.] 


SPECTATOK. 


353 


betrayed  us  into  hard  beds,  and  bad  cheer ;  for  we  were  not  so 
inquisitive  about  the  inn  as  the  inn-keeper ;  and  provided  our 
landlord's  principles  were  sound,  did  not  take  any  notice  of  the 
staleness  of  his  provisions.  This  I  found  still  the  more  inconve- 
nient, because  the  better  the  host  was,  the  worse  generally  were 
his  accommodations ;  the  fellow  knowing  very  well,  that  those 
who  were  his  friends  would  take  up  with  coarse  diet  and  an  hard 
lodging.  For  these  reasons,  all  the  while  I  was  upon  the  road.  I 
dreaded  entering  into  an  house  of  any  one  that  Sir  Roger  had 
applauded  for  an  honest  man. 

Since  my  stay  at  Sir  Roger's  in  the  country,  I  daily  find  more 
instances  of  this  narrow  party  humour.  Being  upon  the  bowling- 
green  at  a  neighbouring  market-town  the  other  day,  (for  that  is  the 
place  where  the  gentlemen  of  one  side  meet  once  a  week)  I  ob- 
served a  stranger  among  them  of  a  better  presence  and  genteeler 
behaviour  than  ordinary  ;  but  was  much  surprised,  that  notwith- 
standing he  was  a  very  fair  better,  nobody  would  take  him  up. 
But  upon  inquiry  I  found,  that  he  was  one  who  had  given  a  dis- 
agreeable vote  in  a  former  parliament,  for  which  reason  there  was 
not  a  man  upon  that  bowling-green  who  would  have  so  much  cor- 
respondence with  him  as  to  win  his  money  of  him. 

Among  other  instances  of  this  nature,  I  must  not  omit  one 
which  concerns  myself.  Will  Wimble  was  the  other  day  relating 
"  several  strange  stories  that  he  had  picked  up,  nobody  knows 
where,  of  a  certain  great  man ;  and  upon  my  staring  at  him,  as 
one  that  was  surprised  to  hear  such  things  in  the  country,  which 
had  never  been  so  much  as  whispered  in  the  town.  Will  stopped 
short  in  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  and  after  dinner  asked  my 
friend  Sir  Boger  in  his  ear,  if  he  was  sure  that  I  was  not  a  fa- 
natic. 

It  gives  me  a  serious  concern  to  see  such  a  spirit  of  dissen- 
sion in  the  country ;  not  only  as  it  destroys  virtue  and  common 


854 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  127. 


sense,  and  renders  us  in  a  manner  barbarians  towards  one  anoth- 
er, but  as  it  perpetuates  our  animosities,  widens  our  breaches, 
and  transmits  our  present  passions  and  prejudices  to  our  posteri- 
ty. For  my  own  part,  I  am  sometimes  afraid  that  I  discover  the 
seeds  of  a  civil  war  in  these  our  divisions  :  and  therefore  cannot 
but  bewail,  as  in  their  first  principles,  the  miseries  and  calamities 
of  our  children.  G 


No.  127.    THURSDAY,  JULY  26. 

 Quantum  est  in  rebus  inane  ? 

Pers.    Sat.  i.  V.  1. 
How  much  of  emptiness  we  find  in  things  I 

It  is  our  custom  at  Sir  Roger's,  upon  the  coming  in  of  the 
post,  to  sit  about  a  pot  of  cofiTee,  and  hear  the  old  knight  read 
Dyer's  letter ;  which  he  does  with  his  spectacles  upon  his  nose, 
and  in  an  audible  voice,  smiling  very  often  at  those  little  strokes 
of  satire,  which  are  so  frequent  in  the  writings  of  that  author. 
I  afterwards  communicate  to  the  knight  such  packets  as  I  receive 
under  the  quality  of  Spectator.  The  following  letter  chancing 
to  please  him  more  than  ordinary,  I  shall  publish  it  at  his  re- 
quest. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  You  have  diverted  the  town  almost  a  whole  month  at  the 
expense  of  the  countr}^ ;  it  is  now  high  time  that  you  should  give 
the  country  their  revenge.  Since  your  withdrawing  from  this 
place,  the  fair  sex  are  run  into  great  extravagancies.  Their  pet- 
ticoats, which  began  to  heave  and  swell  before  you  left  us,  are 
aow  blown  up  into  a  most  enormous  concave,  and  rise  every  day 


No.  127.] 


SPECTATOR 


355 


more  ana  more :  in  short,  sir,  since  our  women  know  themselves 
to  be  out  of  the  eve  of  the  Spectator,  they  will  be  kept  within 
no  compass.  You  praised  them  a  little  too  soon,  for  the  mod- 
est;^ of  their  head-dresses  :  for  as  the  humour  of  a  sick  person  is 
often  driven  out  of  one  limb  into  another,  their  superfluity  of  or- 
naments, instead  of  being  entirely  banished,  seems  only  fallen 
from  their  heads  upon  their  lower  parts.  What  they  have  lost 
in  height  they  make  up  in  breadth,  and  contrary  to  all  rules  of 
architecture,  widen  the  foundations  at  the  same  time  that  they 
shorten  the  superstructure.  Were  they,  like  Spanish  jennets,  to 
impregnate  by  the  wind,  they  could  not  have  thought  on  a  more 
proper  invention.  But  as  we  do  not  yet  hear  any  particular  use 
in  this  petticoat,  or  that  it  contains  any  thing  more  than  what 
was  supposed  to  be  in  those  of  scantier  make,  we  are  wonderfully 
at  a  loss  about  it. 

"  The  women  give  out,  in  defence  of  these  wide  bottoms,  that 
they  are  airy,  and  very  proper  for  the  season  ;  but  this  I  look 
upon  to  be  only  a  pretence,  and  a  piece  of  art;  for  it  is  well  ^ 
known,  we  have  not  had  a  more  moderate  summer  these  many 
years,  so  that  it  is  certain  the  heat  they  complain  of  cannot  be 
in  the  weather :  besides,  I  would  fain  ask  these  tender-constitu- 
fcioned  ladies,  why  they  should  require  more  cooling  than  their 
mothers  before  them. 

"  I  find  several  speculative  persons  are  of  opinion,  that  our 
sex  has  of  late  years  been  very  saucy,  and  that  the  hoop-petti- 
coat is  made  use  of  to  keep  us  at  a  distance.  It  is  most  certain 
that  a  woman's  honour  cannot  be  better  entrenched  than  after 
this  manner,  in  circle  within  circle,  amidst  such  a  variety  of  out- 
works and  lines  of  circumvallation.  A  female  who  is  thus  in- 
vested in  whalebone,  is  sufficiently  secured  against  the  approaches 
of  an  ill  bred  fellow,  who  might  as  well  think  of  Sir  George 


356 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  127 


Etheridge's  way  of  making  love  in  a  tub,  as  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  hoops.^ 

Among  these  various  conjectures,  there  are  men  of  super- 
stitious tempers,  who  look  upon  the  hoop-petticoat  as  a  kincf  of 
prodigy.  Some  will  have  it  that  it  portends  the  downfal  of  the 
French  king,  and  observe  that  the  farthingale  appeared  in  Eng- 
land a  little  before  the  ruin  of  the  Spanish  monarchy."^  Others 
are  of  opinion,  that  it  foretels  battle  and  bloodshed,  and  believe 
it  of  the  same  prognostication  as  the  tail  of  a  blazing  star.  For 
my  part,  I  am  apt  to  think  it  is  a  sign  that  multitudes  are  coming 
into  the  world,  rather  than  going  out  of  it. 

The  first  time  I  saw  a  lady  dressed  in  one  of  these  petti- 
coats, I  could  not  forbear  blaming  her  in  my  own  thoughts,  for 
walking  abroad  when  she  was  so  near  her  time  ;  but  soon  recov- 
ered myself  out  of  my  error,  when  I  found  all  the  modish  part  of 
the  sex  as  far  gone  as  herself.  It  is  generally  thought  some 
crafty  women  have  thus  betrayed  their  companions  into  hoops, 
that  they  might  make  them  accessary  to  their  own  concealments, 
and  by  that  means  escape  the  censure  of  the  world  ;  as  wary  gen- 
erals have  sometimes  dressed  two  or  three  dozen  of  their  friends 
in  their  own  habits,  that  they  might  not  draw  upon  themselves 
any  particular  attacks  from  the  enemy.  The  strutting  petticoat 
smooths  all  distinctions,  levels  the  mother  with  the  daughter,  and 
sets  maids  and  matrons,  wives  and  widows,  upon  the  same  bot- 
tom. In  the  mean  while,  I  cannot  but  be  troubled  to  see  so 
many  well-shaped  innocent  virgins  bloated  up,  and  waddling  up 
and  down  like  big- bellied  women. 

"  Should  this  fashion  get  among  the  ordinary  people,  our 
public  ways  would  be  so  crowded  that  we  should  want  street- 
room.  Several  congregations  of  the  best  fashion  find  themselves 
already  yery  much  straightened,  and  if  the  mode  increase,  I  wish 

i  Love  ill  a  tub.    Act.  IV.  sc  6.— C.  1558.— C. 


No.  127.] 


SPECTATOR. 


357 


it  may  not  drive  many  ordinary  women  into  meetings  and  con- 
venticles. Should  our  sex  at  the  same  time  take  it  into  their 
heads  to  wear  trunk  breeches  (as  who  knows  what  their  indigna- 
tion at  this  female  treatment  may  drive  them  to)  a  man  and  his 
wife  would  fill  a  whole  pew. 

You  know,  sir,  it  is  recorded  of  Alexander  the  Great,  that 
in  his  Indian  expedition  he  buried  several  suits  of  armour,  which 
by  his  directions  were  made  much  too  big  for  any  of  his  soldiers, 
in  order  to  give  posterity  an  extraordinary  idea  of  him,  and  make 
them  believe  he  had  commanded  an  army  of  giants.^  I  am  per- 
suaded that  if  one  of  the  present  petticoats  happens  to  be  hung 
up  in  any  repository  of  curiosities,  it  will  lead  into  the  same 
error  the  generations  that  lie  some  removes  from  us ;  unless  we 
can  believe  our  posterity  will  think  so  disrespectfully  of  their 
great-grandmothers,  that  they  made  themselves  monstrous  to  ap- 
pear amiable. 

^'  When  I  survey  this  new-fashioned  rotunda  in  all  its  parts, 
I  cannot  but  think  of  the  old  philosopher,  who,  after  having  en- 
tered into  an  Egyptian  temple,  and  looked  about  for  the  idol  of 
the  place,  at  length  discovered  a  little  black  monkey  enshrined 
in  the  midst  of  it ;  upon  which  he  could  not  forbear  crying  out, 
(to  the  great  scandal  of  the  worshippers,)  '  What  a  magnificent 
palace  is  here  for  such  a  ridiculous  inhabitant ! ' 

"  Though  you  have  taken  a  resolution,  in  one  of  your  papers, 
to  avoid  descending  to  particularities  of  dress,  I  believe  you  will 
not  think  it  below  you  on  so  extraordinary  an  occasion,  to  un- 
hoop  the  fair  sex,  and  cure  this  fashionable  tympany  that  is  got 
among  them.  I  am  apt  to  think  the  petticoat  will  shrink  of  its 
own  accord  at  your  first  coming  to  town ;  at  least  a  touch  of  your 
pen  will  make  it  contract  itself,  like  the  sensitive  plant,  and  by 

1  Y.  Plutarch. —0. 


358 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  128 


that  means  oblige  several  who  are  either  terrified  or  astonished 
at  this  portentous  novelty,  and  among  the  rest, 

^     Your  humble  servant,"  &c.  C. 


No.  128.    FRIDAY,  JULY  27. 

 Concordia  discors. 

Luo.  i.  93. 

Harmonious  discord. 

Women  in  their  nature  are  much  more  gay  and  joyous  than 
men ;  whether  it  be  that  their  blood  is  more  refined,  their  fibres 
more  delicate,  and  their  animal  spirits  more  light  and  volatile  ; 
or  whether,  as  some  have  imagined,  there  may  not  be  a  kind  of 
sex  in  the  very  soul,  I  shall  not  pretend  to  determine.  As  vi- 
vacity is  the  gift  of  women,  gravity  is  that  of  men.  They  should 
each  of  them,  therefore,  keep  a  watch  upon  the  particular  bias 
which  nature  has  fixed  in  their  minds,  that  it  may  not  draw  too 
much,  and  lead  them  out  of  the  paths  of  reason.  This  will  cer- 
tainly happen,  if  the  one  in  every  word  and  action  affects  the 
character  of  being  rigid  and  severe,  and  the  other  of  being  brisk 
and  airy.  Men  should  beware  of  being  captivated  by  a  kind  of 
savage  philosophy,  women  by  a  thoughtless  gallantry.  Where 
these  precautions  are  not  observed,  the  man  often  degenerates 
into  a  cynic,  the  woman  into  a  coquette ;  the  man  grows  sullen 
and  morose,  the  woman  impertinent  and  fantastical. 

By  what  T  have  said  we  may  conclude,  men  and  women 
were  made  as  counterparts  to  one  another,  that  the  pains  and 
anxieties  of  the  husband  might  be  relieved  by  the  sprightliness 
and  good  humour  of  the  wife.    When  these  are  rightly  tern- 


No.  128.] 


SPECTATOR. 


350 


peredj  care  and  cheerfulness  go  hand  in' hand;  and  the  family, 
like  a  ship  that  is  duly  trimmed,  \7ants  neither  sail  nor  ballast. 

Natural  historians  observe  (for  whilst  I  am  in  the  country  I 
must  fetch  my  allusions  from  thence)  that  only  the  male  birds 
have  voices ;  that  their  songs  begin  a  little  before  breeding-time, 
and  end  a  little  after ;  that  whilst  the  hen  is  covering  her  eggs, 
the  male  generally  takes  his  stand  upon  a  neighbouring  bough 
within  her  hearing ;  and  by  that  means  amuses  and  diverts  her 
with  his  songs  during  the  whole  time  of  her  sitting. 

This  contract  among  birds  lasts  no  longer  than  till  a  brood 
of  young  ones  arises  from  it :  so  that  in  the  feathered  kind,  the 
cares  and  fatigues  of  the  married  state,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  lie 
principally  upon  the  female.  On  the  contrary,  as  in  our  species, 
the  man  and  the  woman  are  joined  together  for  life,  and  the  main 
burden  rests  upon  the  former.  Nature  has  given  all  the  little 
arts  of  soothing  and  blandishment  to  the  female,  that  she  may 
cheer  and  animate  her  companion  in  a  constant  and  assiduous 
application  to  the  making  a  provision  for  his  family,  and  the 
education  of  their  common  children.  This,  however,  is  not  to  be 
taken  so  strictly,  as  if  the  same  duties  were  not  often  reciprocal, 
and  incumbent  on  both  parties,  but  only  to  set  forth  what  seems 
to  have  been  the  general  intention  of  nature,  in  the  different  in- 
clinations and  endowments  which  are  bestowed  on  the  different 
sexes. 

But  whatever  was  the  reason  that  man  and  woman  were  made 
with  this  variety  of  temper,  if  we  observe  the  conduct  of  the  fair 
sex,  we  find  that  they  chuse  rather  to  associate  themselves  with 
a  person  who  resembles  them  in  that  light  and  volatile  humour 
which  is  natural  to  them,  than  to  such  as  are  qualified  to  moder- 
ate and  counterbalance  it.  It  has  been  an  old  complaint,  that 
the  coxcomb  carries  it  with  them  before  the  man  of  sense.  When 
we  sec  a  fellow  loud    and  talkative,  full  of  insipid  life  and 


360 


S  P     C  T  A  T  O  R  , 


l^O.  128. 


laughter,  we  may  venture  to  pronounce  him  a  female  favourite  : 
noise  and  flutter  are  such  accomplishments  as  they  cannot  with- 
stand To  be  short,  the  passion  of  an  ordinary  woman  for  a 
man,  is  nothing  else  but  self-love  diverted  upon  another  object; 
she  would  have  the  lover  a  woman  in  every  thing  but  the  sex.  I 
do  not  know  a  finer  piece  of  satire  on  this  part  of  womankind 
than  those  lines  of  Mr.  Dryden : 

Our  thoughtless  sex  is  caught  by  outward  form 
And  empty  noise,  and  loves  itself  in  man. 

This  is  a  source  of  infinite  calamities  to  the  sex,  as  it  fre- 
quently joins  them  to  men  who  in  their  thoughts  are  as  fine  crea- 
tures as  themselves ;  or  if  they  chance  to  be  good-humoured, 
serve  only  to  dissipate  their  fortunes,  inflame  their  follies,  and 
affsravate  their  indiscretions. 

The  same  female  levity  is  no  less  fatal  to  them  after  mar- 
riage than  before  ;  it  represents  to  their  imaginations  the  faithful, 
prudent  husband,  as  an  honest,  tractable,  and  domestic  animal ; 
and  turns  their  thoughts  upon  the  fine,  gay  gentleman,  that 
laughs,  sings,  and  dresses  so  much  more  agreeably. 

As  this  irregular  vivacity  of  temper  leads  astray  Ihe  hearts 
of  ordinary  women  in  the  choice  of  their  lovers,  and  the  treat- 
ment of  their  husbands,  it  operates  with  the  same  pernicious  in- 
fluence towards  their  children,  who  are  taught  to  accomplish 
themselves  in  all  those  sublime  perfections  that  appear  captiva- 
ting in  the  eye  of  their  mother.  She  admires  in  her  son  what 
she  loved  in  her  gallant :  and  by  that  means  contributes  all  she 
can  to  perpetuate  herself  in  a  worthless  progeny. 

The  younger  Faustina  was  a  lively  instance  of  this  sort  of 
women.  Notwithstanding  she  was  married  to  Marcus  Aurelius, 
one  of  the  greatest,  wisest,  and  best  of  the  Roman  emperors,  she 
thought  a  common  gladiator  much  the  prettier  gentleman  ;  and 


No.  128.] 


SPECTATOR. 


361 


had  taken  such  care  to  accomplish  her  son  Commodus  according 
to  her  own  notions  of  a  fine  man,  that  when  he  ascended  the 
throne  of  his  father,  he  became  the  most  foolish  and  abandoned 
tyrant  that  was  ever  placed  at  the  head  of  the  Roman  empire, 
signalizing  himself  in  nothing  but  the  fighting  of  prizes,  and 
knocking  out  men's  brains.  As  he  had  no  taste  of  true  glory, 
we  see  him  in  several  medals  and  statues  which  are  still  extant 
of  him,  ei^uipped  like  an  Hercules  with  a  club  and  a  lion's 
skin. 

I  have  been  led  into  this  speculation  by  the  characters  I 
have  heard  of  a  country  gentleman  and  his  lady,  who  do  not  live 
many  miles  from  Sir  Eoger.  The  wife  is  an  old  coquette,  that  is 
always  hankering  after  the  diversions  of  the  town;  the  husband 
a  morose  rustic,  that  frowns  and  frets  at  the  name  of  it.  The 
wife  is  over-run  with  affectation,  the  husband  sunk  into  brutality ; 
the  lady  cannot  bear  the  noise  of  the  larks  and  nightingales,  hates 
your  tedious  summer  days,  and  is  sick  at  the  sight  of  shady 
woods  and  purling  streams :  the  husband  wonders  how  any  one 
can  be  pleased  with  the  fooleries  of  plays  and  operas,  and  rails 
from  morning  till  night  at  essenced  fops  and  tawdry  courtiers. 
The  children  are  educated  in  these  different  notions  of  their  pa- 
rents. The  sons  follow  the  father  about  his  grounds,  while  the 
daughters  read  volumes  of  love-letters  and  romances  to  their 
mother.  By  this  means  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  girls  look  upon 
their  father  as  a  clown,  and  the  boys  think  their  mother  no  better 
than  she  should  be. 

How  different  are  the  lives  of  Aristus  and  Aspatia  ?  The 
innocent  vivacity  of  the  one  is  tempered  and  composed  by  the 
cheerful  gravity  of  the  other.  The  wife  grows  wise  by  the  dis- 
courses of  the  husband,  and  the  husband  good-humoured  by  the 
conversations  of  the  wife.  Aristus  would  not  be  so  amiable  were 
it  not  for  his  Aspatia,  nor  Aspatia  so  much  to  be  esteemed  were 

VOL.   V. — 16 


362 


SPECTATOli 


[No.  129. 


it  not  for  her  Aristus.  Their  virtues  are  blended  in  their  chil- 
dren, and  dijBfuse  through  the  whole  family  a  perpetual  spirit  of 
benevolence,  complacency,  and  satisfaction.  C. 


No.  129.    SATURDAY,  JULY  28. 

Vertentem  sese  frustra  sectabere  canthnm, 
Cum  rota  posterior  curras  et  in  axe  secundo. 

Peks.  Sat.  V.  71. 

Thou,  like  the  hindmost  chariot  wheels,  art  curst 
Still  to  be  near  but  ne'er  to  be  the  first. 

Dktden. 

Great  masters  in  painting  never  care  for  drawing  people  in 
the  fashion ;  as  very  well  knowing  that  the  head-dress,  or  peri- 
wig, that  now  prevails,  and  gives  a  grace  to  their  portraitures  at 
present,  will  make  a  very  odd  figure,  and  perhaps  look  monstrous 
in  the  eyes  of  posterity.  For  this  reason  they  often  represent 
an  illustrious,  person  in  a  Eoman  habit,  or  in  some  other  dress 
that  never  varies.  I  could  wish,  for  the  sake  of  my  country 
friends,  that  there  was  such  a  kind  of  everlasting  drapery  to  be 
made  use  of  by  all  who  live  at  a  certain  distance  from  the  town, 
and  that  they  would  agree  upon  such  fashions  as  should  never  be 
liable  to  changes  and  innovations.  For  want  of  this  standing 
dress,  a  man  who  takes  a  journey  into  the  country,  is  as  much 
surprised  as  one  who  walks  in  a  gallery  of  old  family  pictures ; 
and  finds  as  great  a  variety  of  garbs  and  habits  in  the  persons  he 
converses  with.  Did  they  keep  to  one  constant  dress,  they  would 
sometimes  be  in  the  fashion,  which  they  never  are  as  matters  are 
managed  at  present.  If  instead  of  running  after  the^mode,  they 
would  continue  fixed  in  one  certain  habit,  the  mode  would  some- 
time or  other  overtake  them,  as  a  clock  that  stands  still  is  sure 
to  point  right  once  in  twelve  hours :  in  this  case,  therefore,  [ 


No.  129.] 


SPECTATOR. 


363 


would  advise  them,  as  a  gentleman  did  his  friend  who  was  hunt- 
ing about  the  whole  town  after  a  rambling  fellow  :  If  you  follow 
him,  you  will  never  find  him ;  but  if  you  plant  yourself  at  the 
corner  of  any  one  street,  I'll  engage  it  will  not  be  long  before 
you  see  him. 

I  have  already  touched  upon  this  subject,  in  a  speculation  ^ 
which  shews  how  cruelly  the  country  are  led  astray  in  following 
the  town ;  and  equipped  in  a  ridiculous  habit,  when  they  fancy 
themselves  in  the  height  of  the  mode.  Since  that  speculation,  I 
have  received  a  letter  (which  I  there  hinted  at)  from  a  gentleman 
who  is  now  in  the  western  circuit. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 

"  Being  a  lawyer  of  the  Middle  Temple,  a  Cornish  man  by 
birth,  I  generally  ride  the  western  circuit  for  my  health,^  and  as 
I  am  not  interrupted  with  clients,  have  leisure  to  make  many 
observations  that  escape  the  notice  of  my  fellow-travellers. 

"  One  of  the  most  fashionable  women  I  met  with  in  all  the 
circuit  was  my  landlady  at  Staines,  where  I  chanced  to  be  on  a 
holiday.  Her  commode  ^  was  not  half  a  foot  high,  and  her  petti- 
coat within  some  yards  of  a  modish  circumference.  In  the  same 
place  I  observed  a  young  fellow  with  a  tolerable  periwig,  had  it 
not  been  covered  with  a  hat  that  was  shaped  in  the  Ramillie 
cock.  As  I  proceeded  in  my  journey,  I  observed  the  petticoat 
grew  scantier  and  scantier,  and  about  threescore  miles  from  Lon 
don  was  so  very  unfashionable,  that  a  woman  might  walk  in  it 
without  any  manner  of  inconvenience. 

^'  Not  far  from  Salisbury  I  took  notice  of  a  justice  of  peace's 
lady,  who  was  at  least  ten  years  behind  hand  in  her  dress,  but  at 

1  V.  119. 

2  Counsellors  generally  go  on  the  circuits  throughout  the  counties  in 
which  they  are  born  and  bred. — 0. 

8  V.  No.  98,  note.— C, 


864 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  129. 


the  same  time  as  fine  as  hands  could  make  her.  She  was  flounced 
and  furbelowed  from  head  to  foot ;  every  ribbon  was  wrinkled, 
and  every  part  of  her  garments  in  curl,  so  that  she  looked  like 
one  of  those  animals  which  in  the  country  we  call  a  Friezeland 
hen. 

"  Not  many  miles  beyond  this  place,  I  was  informed,  that  one 
of  the  last  year's  little  mufi's  had  by  some  means  or  other  straggled 
into  those  parts,  and  that  all  the  women  of  fashion  were  cutting 
their  old  muffs  in  two,  or  retrenching  them,  according  to  the  little 
model  which  was  got  among  them.  I  cannot  believe  the  report 
they  have  there,  that  it  was  sent  down  franked  by  a  parliament- 
man  in  a  little  packet;  but  probably  by  next  winter  this  fashion 
will  be  at  the  height  in  the  country,  when  it  is  quite  out  at 
London. 

"  The  greatest  beau  at  our  next  country  sessions  was  dressed 
in  a  most  monstrous  flaxen  periwig,  that  was  made  in  King 
William's  reign.  The  wearer  of  it  goes,  it  seems,  in  his  own 
hair,  when  he  is  at  home,  and  lets  his  wig  lie  in  buckle  for  a 
whole  half  year,  that  he  may  put  it  on  upon  occasion  to  meet  the 
judges  in  it. 

^'  I  must  not  here  omit  an  adventure  which  happened  to  us  in 
a  country  church  upon  the  frontiers  of  Cornwall.  As  we  were  in 
the  midst  of  the  service,  a  lady,  who  is  the  chief  woman  of  the 
place,  and  had  passed  the  winter  at  London  with  her  husband, 
entered  the  congregation  in  a  little  head-dress,  and  a  hooped 
petticoat.  The  people,  who  were  wonderfully  startled  at  such  a 
sight,  all  of  them  rose  up.  Some  stared  at  the  prodigious  bot- 
tom, and  some  at  the  little  top  of  this  strange  dress.  In  the 
mean  time  the  lady  of  the  manor  filled  the  area  of  the  church, 
and  walked  up  to  her  pew  with  an  unspeakable  satisfaction,  amidst 
the  whispers,  conjectures,  and  astonishments,  of  the  whole  con- 
gregation. 


No.  129.] 


SPECTATOR. 


365 


"  Upon  our  way  from  hence  we  saw  a  young  fellow  riding 
towards  us  full  gallop,  with  a  bob-wig,  and  a  black  silken  bag  tied 
to  it.  He  stopt  short  at  the  coach,  to  ask  us  how  far  the  judges 
were  behind  us.  His  stay  was  so  very  short,  that  we  had  only 
time  to  observe  his  new  silk  waistcoat,  which  was  unbuttoned  in 
several  places  to  let  us  see  that  he  had  a  clean  shirt  on,  which 
was  ruffled  down  to  his  middle. 

"  From  this  place,  during  our  progress  through  the  most 
western  parts  of  the  kingdom,  we  fancied  ourselves  in  King 
Charles  the  Second's  reign,  the  people  having  made  very  little 
variations  in  their  dress  since  that  time.  The  smartest  of  the 
country  squires  appear  still  in  the  Monmouth  cock ;  and  when 
they  go  a  wooing  (whether  they  have  any  post  in  the  militia  or 
not)  they  generally  put  on  a  red  coat.  We  were,  indeed,  very 
much  surprised,  at  the  place  we  lay  at  last  night,  to  meet  with  a 
gentleman  that  had  accoutered  himself  in  a  night-cap  wig,  a  coat 
with  long  pockets  and  slit  sleeves,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  with  high 
scollop  tops ;  but  we  soon  found  by  his  conversation  that  he  was 
a  person  who  laughed  at  the  ignorance  and  rusticity  of  the  coun- 
try people,  and  was  resolved  to  live  and  die  in  the  mode. 

Sir,  if  you  think  this  account  of  my  travels  may  be  of  any 
advantage  to  the  public,  I  will  next  year  trouble  you  with  such 
occurrences  as  I  shall  meet  with  in  other  parts  of  England.  For 
I  am  informed  there  are  greater  curiosities  in  the  northern  circuit 
than  in  the  western ;  and  that  a  fashion  makes  its  progress  much 
slower  into  Cumberland  than  into  Cornwall.  I  have  heard,  in 
particular,  that  the  Steenkirk  ^  arrived  but  two  months  ago  at 
Newcastle,  and  that  there  are  several  commodes  in  those  parts 
which  are  worth  taking  a  journey  thither  to  see."  C. 

1  A  kind  of  military  cravat  of  black  silk  :  probably  first  worn  at  the 
battle  of  Steenkirk,  Aug.  2,  1692.— C. 


366 


SPECTATOR  . 


[No.  130. 


No.  130.    MONDAY,  JULY  3C. 

 Semperque  recentes 

Convectare  juvat  praedas,  et  vivere^apto. 

ViRQ.  ^n.  vii.  748. 
Hunting  their  sport,  and  plundering  was  their  trade. 

Dryden. 

As  I  was  yesterday  riding  out  in  the  fields  with  my  friend . 
Sir  Roger,  we  saw  at  a  little  distance  from  us,  a  troop  of  gypsies. 
Upon  the  first  discovery  of  them,  my  friend  was  in  some  doubt 
whether  he  should  not  exert  the  Justice  of  Peace  upon  such  a 
band  of  lawless  vagrants  :  but  not  having  his  clerk  with  him,  who 
is  a  necessary  counsellor  on  these  occasions,  and  fearing  that  his 
poultry  might  fare  the  worse  for  it,  he  let  the  thought  drop.  But 
at  the  same  time  gave  me  a  particular  account  of  the  mischiefs 
they  do  in  the  country,  in  stealing  peoples'  goods,  and  spoiling 
their  servants.  ^  If  a  stray  piece  of  linen  hangs  upon  an  hedge, 
(says  Sir  Roger,)  they  are  sure  to  have  it ;  if  a  hog  loses  his  way 
in  the  fields,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  he  becomes  their  prey :  our 
geese  cannot  live  in  peace  for  them.  If  a  man  prosecutes  them 
with  severity,  his  hen-roost  is  sure  to  pay  for  it.  They  generally 
straggle  into  these  parts  about  this  time  of  the  year ;  and  set  the 
heads  of  our  servant-maids  so  agog  for  husbands,  that  we  do  not 
expect  to  have  any  business  done,  as  it  should  be,  whilst  they 
are  in  the  country.  I  have  an  honest  dairy-maid  who  crosses 
their  hands  with  a  piece  of  silver  every  summer ;  and  never  fails 
being  promised  the  handsomest  young  fellow  in  the  parish  for 
her  pains.  Your  friend  the  butler  has  been  fool  enough  to  be 
seduced  by  them;  and  though  he  is  sure  to  lose  a  knife,  a  fork, 
or  a  spoon,  every  time  his  fortune  is  told  him*,  generally  shuts 
himself  up  in  the  pantry  with  an  old  gipsy  for  above  half  an  hour 
once  in  a  twelvemonth.     Sweethearts  are  the  things  they  live 


No.  130.  1 


SPECTATOR. 


367 


upon,  which  they  bestow  very  plentifully  upon  all  those  that 
apply  themselves  to  them.  You  see  now  and  then  some  hand- 
some young  jades  among  them  :  the  sluts  have  very  often  white 
teeth  and  black  eyes,' 

Sir  Roger  observing  tfiat  I  listened  with  great  attention  to 
his  account  of  a  people  who  were  so  entirely  new  to  me,  told  me, 
that  if  I  would,  they  should  tell  us  our  fortunes.  As  I  was  very 
well  pleased  with  the  knight's  proposal,  we  rid  up  and  communi- 
cated our  hands  to  them.  A  Cassandra  of  the  crew,  after  having 
examined  my  lines  very  diligently,  told  me,  that  I  loved  a  pretty 
maid  in  a  corner,  that  I  was  a  good  woman's  man,  with  some 
other  particulars  which  I  do  not  think  proper  to  relate.  My 
friend  Sir  Roger  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  exposing  his  palm 
to  two  or  three  that  stood  by  him,  they  crumpled  it  into  all 
shapes,  and  diligently  scanned  every  wrinkle  that  could  be  made  • 
in  it ;  when  one  of  them,  who  was  older,  and  more  sun-burnt,  than 
the  rest,  told  him,  that  he  had  a  widow  in  his  line  of  life  :  upon 
which  the  knight  cried,  ^  Go,  go,  you  are  an  idle  baggage ;  '  and 
at  the  same  time  smiled  upon  me.  The  gipsy  finding  he  was  not 
displeased  in  his  heart,  told  him,  after  a  further  inquiry  into  his 
hand,  that  his  true-love  was  constant,  and  that  she  should  dream 
of  him  to-night.  My  old  friend  cried  pish,  and  bid  her  go  on.  The 
gipsy  told  him  that  he  was  a  bachelor,  but  would  not  be  so  long ; 
and  that  he  was  dearer  to  somebody  than  he  thought.  The 
knight  still  repeated,  she  was  an  idle  baggage,  and  bid  her  go 
on.  ^  Ah,  master,  (says  the  gipsy,)  that  roguish  leer  of  yours 
makes  a  pretty  woman's  heart  ake  ;  you  ha'n't  that  simper  about 
the  mouth  for  nothing.'  The  uncouth  gibberish  with  which  all 
this  was  uttered,  like  the  darkness  of  an  oracle,  made  us  the 
more  attentive  to  it.  To  be  short,  the  knight  left  the  money  with 
her  that  he  had  crossed  her  hand  with,  and  got  up  again  on  his 
horse. 


368 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  mo. 


As  we  were  riding  away,  Sir  Koger  told  me,  that  he  knew 
several  sensible  people  who  believed  these  gipsies  now  and  then 
foretold  very  strange  things  ;  and  for  half  an  hour  together  ap- 
peared more  jocund  than  ordinary.  In  the  height  of  this  good 
humour,  meeting  a  common  beggar  upon  the  road  who  was  n^ 
conjurer,  as  he  went  to  relieve  him,  he  found  his  pocket  was 
picked  :  ^  that  being  a  kind  of  palmistry  at  which  this  race"  of 
vermin  are  very  dexterous. 

I  might  here  entertain  my  reader  with  historical  remarks  on 
this  idle,  profligate  people,  who  infest  -all  the  countries  of  Eu- 
rope, and  live  in  the  midst  of  governments  in  a  kind  of  common- 
wealth by  themselves.  But,  instead  of  entering  into  observa- 
tions of  this  nature,  I  shall  fill  the  remaining  part  of  my  paper 
with  a  story  which  is  still  fresh  in  Holland,  and  was  printed  in 
one  of  our  monthly  accounts  about  twenty  years  ago.  "  As  the 
Trekschuyt,  or  Hackney-boat,  which  carries  passengers  from 
Leyden  to  Amsterdam,  was  putting  off,  a  boy  running  along  the 
side  of  the  canal,  desired  to  be  taken  in  ;  which  the  master  of  the 
boat  refused,  because  the  lad  had  not  quite  money  enough  to 
pay  the  usual  fare.^  An  eminent  merchant  being  pleased  with 
the  looks  of  the  boy,  and  secretly  touched  with  compassion 
towards  him,  paid  the  money  for  him,  and  ordered  him  to  be 
taken  on  board.  Upon  talking  with  him  afterwards,  he  found 
that  he  could  speak  readily  in  three  or  four  languages,  and  learn- 
ed upon  further  examination,  that  he  had  been  stolen  away  when 
he  was  a  child  by  a  gipsy,  and  had  rambled  ever  since  with  a 
gang  of  those  strollers  up  and  down  several  parts  of  Europe.  It 
happened  that  the  merchant,  whose  heart  seems  to  have  inclined 
towards  the  boy  by  a  secret  kind  of  instinct,  had  himself  lost  a  child 
some  years  before.   The  parents,  after  a  long  search  for  Iiim.  gave 

1  Hardly  more  than  threepence  English. — C. 

*  Was  picked.    Kather  ''had  been  picked.'' — H. 


No.  131.] 


SPECTATOR. 


369 


him  for  drowned  in  one  of  the  canals  with  which  that  country 
abounds ;  and  the  mother  was  so  afflicted  at  the  loss  of  a  fine 
boy,  who  was  her  only  son^  that  she  died  for  grief  of  it.  Upon 
laying  together  all  particulars,  and  examining  the  several  moles 
and  marks  by  which  the  mother  used  to  describe  the  child  when 
he  was  first  missing,  the  boy  proved  to  be  the  son  of  the  mer- 
chant, whose  heart  had  so  unaccountably  melted  at  the  sight  of 
him.  The  lad  was  very  well  pleased  to  find  a  father  who  was 
so  rich,  and  likely  to  leave  him  a  good  estate :  the  father,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  not  a  little  delighted  to  see  a  son  return  to 
him,  whom  he  had  given  for  lost,  with  such  a  strength  of  consti- 
tution, sharpness  of  understanding,  and  skill  in  languages."  Here 
the  printed  story  leaves  oif ;  but  if  I  may  give  credit  to  reports, 
our  linguist  having  received  such  extraordinary  rudiments  to- 
wards a  good  education,  was  afterwards  trained  up  in  every  thing 
that  becomes  a  gentleman ;  wearing  ofi*,  by  little  and  little,  all 
the  vicious  habits  and  practices  that  he  had  been  used  to  in  the 
course  of  his  peregrinations :  nay,  it  is  said,  that  he  has  since 
been  employed  in  foreign  courts  upon  national  business,  with 
great  reputation  to  himself,  and  honour  to  those  who  sent  him, 
and  that  he  has  visited  several  countries  as  a  public  minister,  in 
which  he  formerly  wandered  as  a  gipsy.  C. 


No.  131.    TUESDAY,  JULY  31. 

 Ipsa©  rursum  concedite  sylvae. 

ViRG.  Eel.  X.  63. 
Once  more,  ye  woods,  adieu. 

It  is  usual  for  a  man  who  loves  country  sports  to  preserve 
the  game  in  his  own  grounds,  and  divert  himself  upon  those  that 

70L.    V.  — 16* 


370 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  131. 


belong  to  his  neighbour.  My  friend  Sir  Koger  generally  goes 
two  or  three  miles  from  his  house,  and  gets  into  the  frontiers  of 
his  estate,  before  he  beats  about  in  search  of  a  hare  or  partridge, 
on  purpose  to  spare  his  own  fields,  where  he  is  always  sure  of 
finding  diversion  when  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst.  By 
this  means  the  breed  about  his  house  has  time  to  increase  and 
multiply,  besides,  that  the  sport  is  more  agreeable  where  the 
game  is  harder  to  come  at,  and  where  it  does  not  lie  so  thick  as 
to  produce  any  perplexity  or  confusion  in  the  pursuit.  For  these 
reasons  the  country  gentleman,  like  the  fox,  seldom  preys  near 
his  own  home. 

In  the  same  manner  I  have  made  a  month's  excursion  out  of 
the  town,  which  is  the  great  field  of  game  for  sportsmen  of  my 
species,  to  try  my  fortune  in  the  country,  where  I  have  started 
several  subjects,  and  hunted  them  down,  with  some  pleasure  to 
myself,  and  I  hope  to  others.  I  am  here  forced  to  use  a  great 
deal  of  diligence  before  I  can  spring  any  thing  to  my  mind, 
whereas  in  town,  whilst  I  am  following  one  character,  it  is  ten 
to  one  but  I  am  crossed  in  my  way  by  another,  and  put  up  such 
a  variety  of  odd  creatures  in  both  sexes,  that  they  foil  the  scent 
of  one  another,  and  puzzle  the  chase.  My  greatest  difficulty  in 
the  country  is  to  find  sport,  and  in  town  to  chuse  it.  In  the 
mean  time,  as  I  have  given  a  whole  month's  rest  to  the  cities  of 
London  and  Westminster,  I  promise  myself  abundance  of  new 
game  upon  my  return  thither. 

It  is  indeed  high  time  for  me  to  leave  the  country,  since  I 
find  the  whole  neighbourhood  begin  to  grow  very  inquisitive  after 
my  name  and  character  :  my  love  of  solitude,  taciturnity,  and  par- 
ticular way  of  life,  ha  ving  raised  a  great  curiosity  in  all  these  parts. 

The  notions  which  have  been  framed  of  me  are  various  ; 
some  look  upon  me  as  yery  proud,  some  as  very  modest,  and  some 
as  very  melancholy.    Will  Wimble,  as  my  friend  the  butler  tells 


Xo.  1.^1.] 


SPECTATOR. 


371 


me,  observing  me  very  much  alone,  and  extremely  silent  when  I 
am  in  company,  is  afraid  I  have  killed  a  man.  The  country 
people  seem  to  suspect  me  for  a  conjurer  ;  and  some  of  them 
hearing  of  the  visit  which  I  made  to  Moll  White,  will  needs 
have  it  that  Sir  Roger  has  brought  down  a  cunning  man  with 
him,  to  cure  the  old  woman,  and  free  the  country  from  her 
charms.  So  that  the  character  which  I  go  under  in  part  of  the 
neighbourhood,  is  what  they  here  call  a  white  witch,  ^ 

A  justice  of  peace,  who  lives  above  five  miles  off,  and  is  not 
of  Sir  Roger's  party,  has,  it  seems,  said  twice  or  thrice  at  his 
table,  that  he  wishes  Sir  Roger  does  not  harbour  a  Jesuit  in  his 
house,  and  that  he  thinks  the  gentlemen  of  the  country  would 
do  very  well  to  make  me  give  some  account  of  myself. 

On  the  other  side,  some  of  Sir  Roger's  friends  are  afraid  the 
old  knight  is  imposed  upon  by  a  designing  fellow,  and  as  they 
have  heard  he  converses  very  promiscuously  when  he  is  in  town, 
do  not  know  but  he  has  brought  down  with  him  some  discarded 
Whig,  that  is  sullen,  and  says  nothing,  because  he  is  out  of  place. 

Such  is  the  variety  of  opinions  which  are  here  entertained  of 
me,  so  that  I  pass  among  some  for  a  disaffected  person,  and 
among  others  for  a  Popish  priest ;  among  some  for  a  wizard,  and 
among  others  for  a  murderer ;  and  all  this  for  no  other  reason, 
that  I  can  imagine,  but  because  I  do  not  hoot  and  halloo  and 
make  a  noise.  It  is  true,  my  friend  Sir  Roger  tells  them  that  it 
is  my  way,  and  that  I  am  only  a  philosopher ;  but  this  will  not 

^  According  to  popular  belief^  there  were  three  classes  of  witches  ; — 
white,  black,  and  gray.  The  first  helped,  but  could  not  hurt;  the  second 
the  I'everse,  and  the  third  did  both.  White  spirits  caused  stolen  goods  to 
be  restored ;  they  charmed  away  diseases,  and  did  other  beneficent  acts ; 
neither  did  a  little  harmless  mischief  lie  wholly  out  of  their  way : — Dry- 
den  says 

"  At  least  as  little  honest  as  he  could, 
And  like  white  witches  mischievously  good." — * 


372 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  131. 


satisfy  them.  They  think  there  is  more  in  me  than  he  discovers, 
and  that  I  do  not  hold  my  tongue  for  nothing. 

For  these  and  other  reasons  I  shall  set  out  for  London  to- 
morrow, having  found  by  experience,  that  the  country  is  not  a 
place  for  a  person  of  my  temper,  who  does  not  love  jollity,  and 
what  they  call  good-neighbourhood.  A  man  that  is  out  of 
hum^our  when  an  unexpected  guest  breaks  in  upon  him,  and  does 
not  care  for  sacrificing  an  afternoon  to  every  chance-comer  ;  that 
will  be  the  master  of  his  own  time,  and  the  pursuer  of  his  own  in- 
clinations, makes  but  a  very  unsociable  figure  in  this  kind  of  life. 
I  shall  therefore  retire  into  the  town,  if  I  may  make  use  of  that 
phrase,  and  get  into  the  crowd  again  as  fast  as  I  can,  in  order 
to  be  alone.  I  can  there  raise  what  speculations  I  please  upon 
others,  without  being  observed  myself,  and  at  the  same  time  en- 
joy all  the  advantages  of  company  with  all  the  privileges  of 
solitude.  In  the  mean  while,  to  finish  the  month,  and  conclude 
these  my  rural  speculations,  I  shall  here  insert  a  letter  from  my 
friend  Will  Honeycomb,  who  has  not  lived  a  month  for  these 
forty  years  out  of  the  smoke  of  London,  and  rallies  me  after  his 
way  upon  my  country  life. 

"  Dear  Spec. 

"  I  SUPPOSE  this  letter  will  find  thee  picking  of  daisies,  or 
smelling  to  a  lock  of  hay,  or  passing  away  thy  time  in  some 
innocent  country  diversion  of  the  like  nature.  I  have  however 
orders  from  the  club  to  summon  thee  up  to  town,  being  all  of  us 
cursedly  afraid  thou  wilt  not  be  able  to  relish  our  company  after 
thy  conversations  with  Moll  White  and  Will  Wimble.  Pr'ythee 
don't  send  us  up  any  more  stories  of  a  cock  and  bull,  nor  frighten 
the  town  with  spirits  and  witches.  Thy  speculations  begin  to 
smell  confoundedly  of  wood3  and  meadows.  If  thou  dost  not 
pome  up  (juickly,  we  shall  conclude  thou  art  in  love  with  one  of 


No.  135.] 


SPECTATOR. 


373 


Sir  Roger's  dairy  maids.  Service  to  Knight.  Sir  Andrew  is 
grown  the  cock  of  the  club  since  he  left  us,  and  if  he  does  not 
return  quickly,  will  make  every  mother's  son  of  us  common- 
wealths men. 

"  Dear  Spec,  thine  eternally. 

Will  Honeycomb." 

C. 


No.  135.    SATURDAY,  AUGUST  4. 

Est  brevitate  opus,  ut  currat  sententia  

HoR.  I.  Sp<  X.  9. 
Let  brevity  dispatch  the  rapid  thought. 

I  HAVE  somewhere  read  of  an  an  eminent  person,  who  used  in 
his  private  offices  of  devotion  to  give  thanks  to  heaven  that  he 
was  born  a  Frenchman :  for  my  own  part  I  look  upon  it  as  a 
peculiar  blessing  that  I  was  born  an  Englishman.  Among  other 
reasons,  I  think  myself  very  happy  in  my  country,  as  the  language 
of  it  is  wonderfully  adapted  to  a  man  who  is  sparing  of  his  words, 
and  an  enemy  to  loquacity. 

As  I  have  frequently  reflected  on  my  good  fortune  in  this 
particular,  I  shall  communicate  to  the  public  my  speculations 
upon  the  English  tongue,  not  doubting  but  they  will  be  accept- 
able to  all  my  curious  readers. 

The  English  delight  in  silence  more  than  any  other  European 
nation,  if  the  remarks  which  are  made  on*us'  by  foreigners  are 
true.  Our  discourse  is  not  kept  up  in  conversation,  but  falls 
into  more  pauses  and  intervals  than  in  our  neighbouring  coun- 
tries ;  as  it  is  observed,  that  the  matter  of  our  writings  is  thrown 
much  closer  together,  and  lies  in  a  narrower  compass  than  is 
usual  in  the  works  of  foreign  authors  :  for,  to  favour  our  natural 
taciturnity,  when  we  are  obliged  to  utter  our  thoughts,  we  do  it 


374 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  135 


in  the  shortest  way  we  are  able,  and  give  as  quick  a  birth  to  our 
conceptions  as  possible. 

This  humour  shews  itself  in  several  remarks  that  we  may 
make  upon  the  English  language.^  As  first  of  all  by  its  abound- 
ing in  monosyllables,  which  gives  us  an  opportunity  of  delivering 
our  thoughts  in  few  sounds.  This  indeed  takes  off  from  the 
elegance  of  our  tongue,  but  at  the  same  time  expresses  our  ideas 
in  the  readiest  manner,  and  consequently  answers  the  first  design 
of  speech  better  than  the  multitude  of  syllables,  which  make  the 
words  of  other  languages  more  tunable  and  sonorous.  The  sounds 
of  our  English  words  are  commonly  like  those  of  string  music, 
short  and  transient,  which  rise  and  perish  upon  a  single  touch  ; 
those  of  other  languages  are  like  the  notes  of  wind  instruments, 
sweet  and  swelling,  and  lengthened  out  into  variety  of  modula- 
tion. 

In  the  next  place  we  may  observe,  that  where  the  words  are 
not  monosyllables,  we  often  make  them  so,  as  much  as  lies  in  our 
power,  by  our  rapidity  of  pronuciation  ;  as  it  generally  happens  in 
most  of  our  long  words  which  are  derived  from  the  Latin,  where 
we  contract  the  length  of  the  syllables  that  gives  them  a  grave 
and  solemn  air  in  their  own  language,  to  make  them  more  proper 
for  dispatch,  and  more  conformable  to  the  genius  of  our  tongue. 
This  we  may  find  in  a  multitude  of  words,  as  Liberty,  Conspiracy, 
Theatre,  Orator,  &c. 

The  same  natural  aversion  to  loquacity  has  of  late  years  made 
a  very  considerable  alteration  in  our  language,  by  closing  in  one 
syllable  the  termination  of  praeterperfect  tense,  as  in  the  words 
droion\l^  loaWd^  arriv\l^  for  drowned^  ivalked^  arrived^  which 
has  very  much  disfigured  the  tongue,  and  turned  a  tenth  part  of 

^  "  It  is,"  savs  Swift  to  Stella,  in  one  of  his  journal  letters,  "  The  English 
tongue,  or  the  English  language."  The  words  in  question  are  used  here 
indiscriminately. — C. 


No.  135.] 


SPECTATOR. 


375 


our  smootliest  words  into  so  many  clusters  of  consonants.  This 
is  the  more  remarka,blG,  because  the  want  of  vowels  in  our 
language  has  been  the  general  complaint  of  our  politest  authors, 
who  nevertheless  are  the  men  that  have  made  these  retrench- 
ments, and  consequently  very  much  increased  our  former  scarcity. 

This  reflection  on  the  words  that  end  in  ed^  I  have  heard  in 
conversation  from  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  this  age  has 
produced.^  I  think  we  may  add  to  the  foregoing  observation, 
the  change  which  has  happened  in  our  langunge,  by  the  abbrevia- 
tion of  several  words  that  are  terminated  in  eth^  by  substituting 
an  5  in  the  room  of  the  last  syllable,  as  in  drowns^  walks^  arrives^ 
and  innumerable  other  words,  which  in  the  pronunciation  of  our 
fore-fathers  were  drowneth^  walketh^  arriveth.  This  has  won- 
derfully multiplied  a  letter  which  was  before  too  frequent  in  the 
English  tongue,  and  added  to  that  hissing  in  our  language,  which 
is  taken  so  much  notice  of  by  foreigners ;  but  at  the  same  time 
humours  our  taciturnity,  and  eases  us  of  many  superfluous 
syllables. 

I  might  here  observe,  that  the  same  single  letter  on  many 
occasions  does  the  office  of  a  whole  word,  and  represents  the  His 
and  Her  of  our  fore-fathers.  There  is  no  doubt  but  the  ear  of 
a  foreigner,  which  is  the  best  judge  in  this  case,  would  very 
much  disapprove  of  such  innovations,  which  indeed  we  do  our- 
selves in  some  measure,  by  retaining  the  old  termination  in 
writing,  and  in  all  the  solemn  offices  of  our  religion. 

As  in  the  instances  I  have  given,  we  have  epitomized  many 

of  our  particular  words  to  the  detriment  of  our  tongue,  so  on 

other  occasions  we  have  drawn  two  words  into  one,  which  has 

likewise  very  much  untuned  our  language,  and  clogged  it  witn 

consonants,  as  mayn't^  canH^  sha'n't^  wd^rCt^  and  the  like,  for 

may  not^  can  not^  shall  not^  will  not^  &c. 

*  Swift.  See  his  '  Proposal  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford.' — Swift's  Works, 
V  ii.    Roscoe's  Ed. — G. 


376 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  135 


It  is  perhaps  this  humour  of  speaking  no  more  than  we  needs 
must,  which  has  so  miserably  curtailed  some  of  our  words,  that 
in  familiar  writings  and  conversations  they  often  lose  all  but 
their  first  syllables,  as  in  mob.  rep.  pos,  incog,  and  the  like  ;  and 
as  all  ridiculous  words  make  their  first  entry  into  a  language  by 
familiar  phrases,  I  dare  not  answer  for  these  that  they  will  not 
in  time  be  looked  upon  as  part  of  our  tongue.  We  see  some  of 
our  poets  have  been  so  indiscreet  as  to  imitate  Hudibras's  dog- 
grel  expressions  in  their  serious  compositions,  by  throwing  out 
the  signs  of  our  substantives,  which  are  essential  to  the  English 
language.  Nay,  this  humour  of  shortening  our  language  had 
once  run  so  far,  that  some  of  our  celebrated  authors,  among 
whom  we  may  reckon  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange  in  particular,  began 
to  prune  their  words  of  all  superfluous  letters,  as  they  termed 
them,  in  order  to  adjust  the  spelling  to  the  pronunciation ;  which 
would  have  confounded  all  our  etymologies,  and  have  quite 
destroyed  our  tongue. 

We  may  here  likewise  observe,  that  our  proper  names,  when 
familiarized  in  English,  generally  dwindle  to  monosyllables, 
whereas  in  other  modern  languages,  they  receive  a  softer  turn  on 
this  occasion,  by  the  addition  of  a  new  syllable.  Nick  in  Italian 
is  Nicolini ;  Jack,  in  French  J anot ;  and  so  of  the  rest. 

There  is  another  particular  in  our  language  which  is  a  great 
instance  of  our  frugality  in  words,  and  that  is  the  suppressing  of 
several  particles  which  must  be  produced  in  other  tongues  to 
make  a  sentence  intelligible  :  this  often  perplexes  the  best  writers, 
when  they  find  the  relatives  ivhom^  ivliich^  or  thcy^  at  their  mer- 
cy, whether  they  may  have  admission  or  not,  and  will  never  be 
decided  till  we  have  something  like  an  academy,  that  by  the  best 
authorities  and  rules  drawn  from  the  analogy  of  languages,  shall 
settle  all  controversies  between  grammar  and  idiom. 

I  have  only  consid^ered  our  language,  as  it  shews  the  genius 


No.  159.] 


SPECTATOR. 


377 


and  natural  temper  of  the  English,  which  is  modest,  thoughtful 
and  sincere,  and  which  perhaps  may  recommend  the  people, 
though  it  has  spoiled  the  tongue.  We  might  perhaps  carry  the 
same  thought  into  other  languages,  and  deduce  a  great  part  of 
what  is  peculiar  to  them  from  the  genius  of  the  people  who  speak 
them.  It  is  certain  the  light  talkative  humour  of  the  French, 
has  not  a  little  infected  their  tongiie,  which  might  be  shewn  by 
many  instances  ;  as  the  genius  of  the  Italians,  which  is  so  much 
addicted  to  music  and  ceremony,  has  moulded  all  their  words  and 
phrases  to  those  particular  uses.  The  stateliness  and  gravity  of 
the  Spaniards  shews  itself  to  perfection  in  the  solemnity  of  their 
language  ;  and  the  blunt  honest  humour  of  the  Germans  sounds 
better  in  the  roughness  of  the  High  Dutch,  than  it  would  in  a 
politer  tongue.  C. 


No.  159.    SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  1. 

 Omnem  qnce  nunc  obducta  tuenti 

Mortales  hebetat  visiis  tibi,  et  humida  circum 
Caligat,  Dubem  erifjiam  

YiRG.  ^n.  ii.  604. 

The  cloud,  which,  intercepting  the  clear  light, 
Hangs  o'er  the  eyes,  and  blunts  thy  mortal  sight, 
I  will  remove  

When  I  was  at  Grand  Cairo  I  picked  up  several  oriental 
manuscripts,  which  I  have  still  by  me.  Among  others  I  met 
with  one  entitled.  The  Visions  of  Mirzah,  which  I  have  read  over 
with  great  pleasure.  I  intend  to  give  it  to  the  public  when  I 
have  no  other  entertainment  for  them  ;  and  shall  begin  with  the 
first  vision,  which  I  have  translated  word  for  word  as  follows  : 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  moon,  which  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  my  forefathers  I  always  kept  holy,  after  having  washe(f 


378  SPECTATOR.  [No.  159. 

myself,  and  offered  up  my  morning  devotions,  I  ascended  the 
high  hill  of  Bagdat,  in  order  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in  medi 
tation  and  prayer.  As  I  was  here  airing  myself  on  the  tops  of 
the  mountains,  I  fell  into  a  profound  contemplation  on  the  vanity 
of  human  life  ;  and  passing  from  one  thought  to  another,  surely, 
said  I,  man  is  but  a  shadow  and  life  a  dream.  Whilst  I  was  thus 
musing,  I  cast  my  eyes  towards  the  summit  of  a  rock  that  was 
not  far  from  me,  where  I  discovered  one  in  the  habit  of  a  shep- 
herd, with  a  musical  instrument  in  his  hand.*  As  I  looked  upon 
him  he  applied  it  to  his  lips,  and  began  to  play  upon  it.  The 
sound  of  it  was  exceeding  sweet,  and  wrought  into  a  variety  of 
tunes  that  were  inexpressibly  melodious,  and  altogether  different 
from  any  thing  I  had  ever  heard.  They  put  me  in  mind  of  those 
heavenly  airs  that  are  played  to  the  departed  souls  of  good  men 
upon  their  first  arrival  in  paradise,  to  wear  out  the  impressions  . 
of  their  last  agonies,  and  qualify  them  for  the  pleasures  of  that 
happy  place.    My  heart  melted  away  in  sacred  raptures. 

I  had  been  often  told  that  the  rock  before  me  was  the 
haunt  of  a  genius ;  and  that  several  had  been  entertained  with 
music  who  had  passed  by  it,  but  never  heard  that  the  musician 
had  before  made  himself  visible.  When  he  had  raised  my 
thoughts  by  those  transporting  airs  which  he  played,  to  taste  the 
pleasures  of  his  conversation,  as  I  looked  upon  him  like  one 
astonished,  he  beckoned  to  me,  and  by  the  waving  of  his  hand 
directed  me  to  approach  the  place  where  he  sat.  I  drew  near 
with  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  a  superior  nature  ;  and  as 
my  heart  was  entirely  subdued  by  the  captivating  strains  I  had 
beard,  I  fell  down  at  his  feet  and  wept.    The  genius  smiled  upon 

^  This  musical  apparatus  was  intended,  not  only  to  raise  the  thoughts 
of  Mirzah,  as  is  observed,  to  taste  tlie  pleasures  of  tlie  following  conversa- 
tion ;  but  to  raise  our  ideas  of  that  charming  philosophy,  which  is  the  sub* 
ject  of  it — 

"  Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose, 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute  " 

Milton. — H. 


ISTo.  159.] 


SPECTATOR. 


379 


me  with  a  look  of  compassion  and  affability  that  familiarized  him 
to  my  imagination,  and  at  once  dispelled  all  the  fears  and  appre- 
hensions with  which  I  approached  him.  He  lifted  me  from  the 
ground,  and  taking  me  by  the  hand,  Mirzah,  said  he,  I  have 
heard  thee  in  thy  soliloquies,  follow  me. 

He  then  led  me  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  and 
placing  me  on  the  top  of  it,  Cast  thy  eyes  eastward,  said  he,  and 
tell  me  what  thou  seest.  I  see,  said  I,  a  huge  valley  and  a  pro- 
digious tide  of  water  rolling  through  it.  The  valley  that  thou 
seest,  said  he,  is  the  vale  of  misery,  and  the  tide  of  water  that 
thou  seest,  is  part  of  the  great  tide  of  eternity.  What  is  the 
reason,  said  I,  that  the  tide  I  see  rises  out  of  a  thick  mist  at  one 
end,  and  again,  loses  itself  in  a  thick  mist  at  the  other  ? 
What  thou  seest,  says  he,  is  that  portion  of  eternity  which 
is  called  time,  and  measured  out  by  the  sun,  and  reaching 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world  to  its  consummation.  Examine 
now,  said  he,  this  sea  that  is  thus  bounded  with  darkness  at  both 
ends,  and  tell  me  what  thou  discoverest  in  it.  I  see  a  bridge, 
said  I,  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  tide.  The  bridge  thou 
seest,  said  he,  is  human  life  ;  consider  it  attentively.  Upon  a 
more  leisurely  survey  of  it,  I  found  that  it  consisted  of  three- 
score and  ten  entire  arches,  with  several  broken  arches,  which 
added  to  those  that  were  entire,  made  up  the  number  about  an 
hundred.  As  I  was  counting  the  arches  the  genius  told  me  that 
this  bridge  consisted  at  first  of  a  thousand  arches ;  but  that  a 
great  flood  swept  away  the  rest,  and  left  the  bridge  in  the  ruinous 
condition  I  now  beheld  it.  But  tell  me  further,  said  he,  what 
thou  discoverest  on  it.  I  see  multitudes  of  people  passing  over 
it,  said  I,  and  a  black  cloud  hanging  on  each  end  of  it.  As  I 
looked  more  attentively,  I  saw  several  of  the  passengers  dropping 
through  the  bridge,  into  the  great  tide  that  flowed  underneath  it ; 
and  upon  further  examination,  perceived  there  were  innumerable 


380 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  159. 


trap-doors  that  lay  concealed  in  the  bridge,  which  the  passengers 
no  sooner  trod  upon,  but they  fell  through  them  into  the  tide 
and  immediately  disappeared.  These  hidden  pit-falls  were  set  very 
thick  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge,  so  that  throngs  of  people  no 
sooner  broke  through  the  cloud,  but  many  of  them  fell  into  them. 
They  grew  thinner  towards  the  middle,  but  multiplied  and  lay 
closer  together  towards  the  end  of  the  arches  that  were  entire. 

There  were  indeed  some  persons,  but  their  number  was  very 
small,  that  continued  a  kind  of  hobbling  march  on  the  broken 
arches,  but  fell  through  one  after  another,  being  quite  tired  and 
spent  with  so  long  a  walk. 

I  passed  some  time  in  the  contemplation  of  this  wonderful 
structure,  and  the  great  variety  of  objects  which  it  presented- 
My  heart  was  filled  with  a  deep  melancholy  to  see  several  drop- 
ping unexpectedly  in  the  midst  of  mirth  and  jollity,  and  catching 
at  every  thing  that  stood  by  them  to  save  themselves.  Some 
were  looking  up  towards  the  heavens  in  a  thoughtful  posture,  and 
in  the  midst  of  a  speculation  stumbled  and  fell  out  of  sight. 
Multitudes  were  very  busy  in  the  pursuit  of  baubles  that  glitter- 
ed in  their  eyes  and  danced  before  them,  but  often  when  they 
thought  themselves  within  the  reach  of  them,  their  footing  failed 
and  down  they  sunk.  In  this  confusion  of  objects,  I  observed 
some  with  scymetars  in  their  hands,  and  others  with  urinals,  who 
ran  to  and  fro  upon  the  bridge,  thrusting  several  persons  on  trap- 
doors which   did  not  seem  to   lie  in  their  way,^  and  which 

1  Tlie  original  folio  reads — which  did  not  seem  to  have  been  laid  for 
them.    This  was  corrected  as  above  in  an  errata  to  No.  162. — G. 


"  I  before  observed  [in  No.  50  ]  this  licentious  use  of  hit  for  than.  The 
same  fault  occurs  here,  in  two  sentences  together;  and  is  the  more  offen- 
sive in  both,  because  but  meets  us  again,  (in  its  proper  sense,  indeed)  in 
the  next  sentence. 

Whatever  authorities  may  be  pleaded  for  this  practice,  it  is  better 
always  to  avoid  it ;  because  but  is  so  frequently  and  necessaril}^  enijiloyed 
in  its  comjuon  adversative  sense,  that  to  use  it  comparatively,  too,  would 
hurt  the  ear  by  a  repetition  of  the  same  sound,  if  this  sense  of  it  were, 
otherwise,  allowable. — H. 


No  159.] 


SPECTATOR. 


381 


they  might  have  escaped,  had  they  not  been  thus  forced  upon 
them. 

^'  The  genius  seeing  me  indulge  myself  in  this  melancholy 
prospect,  told  me  I  had  dwelt  long  enough  upon  it ;  take  thine 
eyes  off  the  bridge,  said  he,  and  tell  me  if  thou  seest  any  thing 
thou  dost  not  comprehend.  Upon  looking  up,  what  mean,  said  I, 
those  great  flights  of  birds  that  are  perpetually  hovering  about  the 
bridge,  and  settling  upon  it  from  time  to  time  ?  I  see  vultures, 
harpyes,  ravens,  cormorants,  and  among  many  other  feathered 
creatures,  several  little  winged  boys,  that  perch  in  great  numbers 
upon  the  middle  arches.  These,  said  the  genius,  are  envy,  ava- 
rice, superstition,  despair,  love,  with  the  like  cares  and  passions 
that  infect  human  life. 

I  here  fetched  a  deep  sigh  ;  alas,  said  I,  man  was  made  in 
vain  !  How  is  he  given  away  to  misery  and  mortality  !  tortured 
in  life,  and  swallowed  up  in  death  !  The  genius  being  moved 
with  compassion  towards  me,  bid  me  quit  so  uncomfortable  a 
prospect.  Look  no  more,  said  he,  on  man  in  the  first  stage  of 
his  existence,  in  his  setting  out  for  eternity ;  but  cast  thine  eye 
on  that  thick  mist  into  which  the  tide  bears  the  several  genera- 
tions of  mortals  that  fall  into  it.  I  directed  my  sight  as  I  was 
ordered,  and  (whether  or  no  the  good  genius  strengthened  it  with 
any  supernatural  force,  or  dissipated  part  of  the  mist  that  was 
before  too  thick  for  the  eye  to  penetrate)  I  saw  the  valley  open- 
ing at  the  further  end,  and  spreading  forth  into  an  immense  ocean, 
that  had  a  huge  rock  of  adamant  running  through  the  midst  of 
it,  and  dividing  it  into  two  equal  parts.  The  clouds  still  rested 
on  one  half  of  it,  insomuch  that  I  could  discover  nothing  in  it  : 
but  the  other  appeared  to  me  a  vast  ocean  planted  with  innumer- 
able islands,  that  were  covered  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and  inter- 
woven with  a  thousand  little  shining  seas  that  ran  among  them. 
I  could  see  persons  dressed  in  glorious  habits  with  garlands  upon 


382 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  159. 


their  heads,  passing  among  the  trees,  lying  down  by  the  sides  of 
the  fountains,  or  resting  on  beds  of  flowers ;  and  could  hear  a 
confused  harmony  of  singing  birds,  falling  waters,  human  voices, 
and  musical  instruments.  Gladness  grew^  in  me  upon  the  discov- 
ery of  so  delightful  a  scene.  I  wished  for  the  wings  of  an  eagle, 
that  I  might  fly  away  to  those  happy  seats  ;  but  the  genius  told 
nie  there  was  no  passage  to  them,  except  through  the  gates  of 
death  that  I  saw  opening  every  moment  upon  the  bridge.  The 
islands,  said  he,  that  lie  so  fresh  and  green  before  thee,  and  with 
which  the  whole  face  of  the  ocean  appears  spotted  as  far  as  thou 
canst  see,  are  more  in  number  than  the  sands  on  the  sea- shore  ; 
there  are  myriads  of  islands  behind  those  which  thou  here  dis- 
coverest,  reaching  further  than  thine  eye  or  even  thine  imagina- 
tion can  extend  itself  These  are  the  mansions  of  good  men  after 
death,  who  according  to  the  degree  and  kinds  of  virtue  in  which 
they  excelled,  are  distributed  among  these  several  islands  which 
abound  with  pleasures  of  different  kinds  and  degrees,  suitable  to 
the  relishes  and  perfections  of  those  who  are  settled  in  them  : 
every  island  is  a  paradise,  accommodated  to  its  respective  inhabit- 
ants. Are  not  these,  0  Mirzah,  habitations  worth  contending 
for  ?  Does  life  appear  miserable,  that  gives  thee  opportunities  of 
earning  such  a  reward  ?  Is  death  to  be  feared,  that  will  convey 
thee  to  so  happy  an  existence?  Think  not  man  was  made  in  vain, 
who  has  such  an  eternity  reserved  for  him.  I  gazed  with  inex- 
pressible pleasure  on  these  happy  islands.  At  length,  said  I, 
shew  me  now,  I  beseech  thee,  the  secrets  that  lie  hid  under  those 
dark  clouds  which  cover  the  ocean  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock 
of  adamant.  The  genius  making  me  no  answer,*  I  turned  about 
to  address  myself  to  him  a  second  time,  but  I  found  that  he  had 
left  me ;  I  then  turned  again  to  the  vision  which  I  had  been  so 

^  This  silence  of  the  genius  has  something  terrible  in  it,  and  lays  open 
the  secrets  of  the  great  deep  more  effectually,  than  the  most  laboured  de- 
scription of  them  could  have  done. — II. 


No.  160.] 


SPECTATOR. 


383 


long  contemplating,  but,  instead  of  the  rolling  tide,  the  arched 
bridge,  and  the  happy  islands,  I  saw  nothing  but  the  long  hollow 
valley  of  Bagdat,  with  oxen,  sheep,  and  camels,  grazing  upon  the 
sides  of  it."  ^ 

The  end  of  the  first  vision  of  Mirzah. 

0. 


No.  160.    MONDAY,  SEPTEMBER  3. 

 Cui  mens  divinior,  atque  os 

Magna  sonaturum,  des  nominis  hujus  honorem. 

Hob.  I.  Sat.  iv.  43. 

 He  alone  can  claim  this  name,  who  writes 

With  fancy  high,  and  bold  and  daring  flights. 

Creech. 

There  is  no  character  more  frequently  given  to  a  writer,  than 
that  of  being  a  genius.  I  have  heard  many  a  little  sonnetteer 
called  a  fine  genius.  There  is  not  an  heroic  scribbler*'  in  the 
nation,  that  has  not  his  admirers,  who  think  him  a  great  genius  ; 
and  as  for  your  smatterers  in  tragedy,  there  is  scarce  a  man  among 
them  who  is  not  cried  up  by  one  or  other  for  a  prodigious  genius. 

My  design  in  this  paper  is  to  consider  what  is  properly  a  great 
genius,  and  to  throw  some  thoughts  together  on  so  uncommon  a 
subject. 

Among  great  geniuses,  those  few  draw  the  admiration  of  ail 
the  world  upon  them,  and  stand  up  as  the  prodigies  of  mankind, 
who  by  the  meer  strength  of  natural  parts,  and  without  any  as- 
sistance of  art  or  learning,  have  produced  works  that  were  the 

a  Mr.  Addison  is  a  much  better  poet,  in  prose,  than  in  verse.  This  vi- 
Aion  has  all  the  merit  of  the  finest  canto  in  Spenser. — H. 

b  He  means  a  scribbler  in  what  is  called  heroic  verse,  not  a  scribbler 
of  heroic,  i.  e,  epic  poems:  otherwise,  what  follows  would  be  an  anti-cli- 
max.— H. 


384 


SPECTATOR. 


[.No.  160. 


delight  of  their  own  times,  and  the  wonder  of  posterity.  There 
appears  something  nobly  wild  and  extravagant  in  these  great  na 
tural  geniuses,  that  is  infinitely  more  beautiful  than  all  the  turn 
and  polishing  of  what  the  French  call  a  Bel  JElsprit^  by  which 
they  would  express  a  genius  refined  by  conversation,  reflection, 
and  the  reading  of  the  most  polite  authors.  The  greatest  genius 
which  runs  through  the  arts  and  sciences,  takes  a  kind  of  tincture 
from  them,  and  falls  unavoidably  into  imitation. 

Many  of  these  great  natural  geniuses  that  were  never  disci- 
plined and  broken  by  rules  of  art,  are  to  be  found  among  the 
ancients,  and,  in  particular,  among  those  of  the  more  eastern  parts 
of  the  world.  Homer  has  innumerable  flights  that  Virgil  was 
not  able  to  reach ;  and  in  the  Old  Testament  we  find  several  pas- 
sages more  elevated  and  sublime  than  any  in  Homer.  At  the 
same  time  that  we  allow  a  greater  and  more  daring  genius  to  the 
ancients,  we  must  own  that  the  greatest  of  them  very  much  failed 
in,  or,  if  you  will,  that  they  were  much  above,  the  nicety  and  cor- 
rectness of  the  moderns.  In  their  similitudes  and  allusions,  pro- 
vided there  was  a  likeness,  they  did  not  much  tr.ouble  themselves 
about  the  decency*  of  the  comparison  :  thus  Solomon  resembles* 
the  nose  of  his  beloved  to  the  tower  of  Lebanon  which  looketh 
toward  Damascus;  as  the  coming  of  a  thief  in  the  night,  is  a  si 
militude  of  the  same  kind  in  the  New  Testament.  It  would  be 
endless  to  make  collections  of  this  nature  :  Homer  illustrates  one 
of  his  heroes  encompassed  with  the  enemy,  by  an  ass  in  a  field  of 
corn,  that  has  his  sides  belaboured  by  all  the  boys  of  the  village 
without  stirring  a  foot  for  it ;  and  another  of  them  tossing  to  and 
fro  in  his  bed,  and  burning  with  resentment,  to  a  piece  of  flesh 
broiled  on  the  coals.  This  particular  failure  in  the  ancients,  opens 
^  i.  e.,  The  impropriety — which  makes  Chalinfer's  not-i  superfluous. — G. 

*  Rese^nhleSj  for  "  compares."  But  resembles  is  a  neutral  verb,  and  is,  there- 
fore, used  improperly. — H. 


No.  160.] 


SPECTATOR. 


385 


a  large  field  of  raillery  to  the  little  wits,  who  can  laugh  at  an  in- 
decency, but  not  relish  the  sublime  in  these  sorts  of  writings. 
The  present  emperor  of  Persia,  conformable  to  this  eastern  way 
of  thinking,  amidst  a  great  many  pompous  titles,  denominates 
himself  the  Sun  of  Glory,  and  the  Nutmeg  of  Delight.  In  short, 
to  cut  off  all  cavilling  against  the  ancients,  and  particularly  those 
of  the  warmer  climates,  who  had  most  heat  and  life  in  their  ima- 
ginations, we  are  to  consider  that  the  rule  of  observing  what  the 
French  call  the  Bienseance  in  an  allusion,  has  been  found  out  of 
latter  years,  and  in  the  colder  regions  of  the  world  ;  where  we 
would  make  some  amends  for  our  want  of  force  and  spirit,  by  a 
scrupulous  nicety  and  exactness  in  our  compositions.  Our  coun- 
tryman Shakespear  was  a  remarkable  instance  of  this  first  kind 
of  great  geniuses. 

I  cannot  quit  this  head,  without  observing  that  Pindar  was  a 
great  genius  of  the  first  class,  who  was  hurried  on  by  a  natural 
fire  and  impetuosity  to  vast  conceptions  of  things,  and  noble 
sallies  of  imagination.  At  the  same  time,  can  any  thing  be  more 
ridiculous  than  for  men  of  a  sober  and  moderate  fancy,  to  imitate 
this  poet's  way  of  writing  in  those  monstrous  compositions  which 
go  among  us  under  the  name  of  Pindarics  ?  When  I  see  people 
copying  works,  which,  as  Horace  has  represented  them,  are  sin- 
gular in  their  kind  and  inimitable  ;  when  I  see  men  following  ir- 
regularities by  rule,  and  by  the  little  tricks  of  art  straining  after 
the  most  unbounded  flights  of  nature,  I  cannot  but  apply  to  them 
that  passage  in  Terence. 

 Incerta  haec  si  tu  postules 

Ratione  certa  facere,  nihilo  phis  agas, 

Quam  si  des  operam,  ut  cum  ratione  insanias. 

EuN.  Act  1.  sc.  1. 

*  You  may  as  well  pretend  to  be  mad  and  in  your  senses  at  the  same 
time,  as  to  think  of  reducing  these  uncertain  things  to  any  certainty  by 
reason.' 


VOL.   V. — 17 


386 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  160 


In  short,  a  modern  pindaric  writer  compared  with  Pindar,  is 
like  a  sister  among  the  Camisars'  compared  with  Virgil's  Sibyl  : 
there  is  the  distortion,  grimace,  and  outward  figure,  but  nothing 
of  that  divine  impulse  which  raises  the  mind  above  itself, 
and  makes  the  sounds  more  than  human. 

There  is  another  kind  of  great  geniuses  which  I  shall  place  in 
a  second  class,  not  as  I  think^  them  inferior  to  the  first,  but  only 
for  distinction's  sake,  as  they  are  of  a  difi'erent  kind.  This 
second  class  of  great  geniuses  are  those  that  have  formed  them- 
selves by  rules,  and  submitted  the  greatness  of  their  natural 
talents  to  the  corrections  and  restraints  of  art.  Such  among  the 
Greeks  were  Plato  and  Aristotle ;  among  the  Romans,  Virgil  and 
Tully;  among  the  English,  Milton  and  Sir  Francis  Bacon. 

The  genius  in  both  these  classes  of  authors  may  be  equally 
great,  but  shows  itself  after  a  different  manner.  In  the  first  it  is 
like  a  rich  soil  in  a  happy  climate,  that  produces  a  whole  wilder- 
ness of  noble  plants,  rising  in  a  thousand  beautiful  landscapes, 
without  any  certain  order  or  regularity.  In  the  other  it  is  the 
same  rich  soil  under  the  same  happy  climate,  that  has  been  laid  out 
in  walks  and  parterres,  and  cut  into  shape  and  beauty  by  the  skill 
of  the  gardener. 

The  great  danger  in  these  latter  kind  of  geniuses,  is,  lest  they 

^  Or  'French  prophets/  from  the  Cevennes  in  France, wlio  came  to  Lon- 
don in  llOl,  and  attracted  attention  by  their  extravagance.  They  worked 
themselves  into  strange  agitations  and  convulsions  of  bod}',  would  be  seized 
with  violent  throbs,  hiccoughs,  or  throw  themselves  into  the  most  violent 
distortions,  imagining  the  wild  ravings  they  then  uttered  were  the  dictates 
of  the  Holy  Spirit!  They  dealt  in  miracles  and  prophecy:  and  though 
y)iiblicly  prosecuted  and  punished,  found  for  a  time  proselytes  and  support- 
ers. V.  For  their  origin,  Voltaire  Siecle  de  Louis  XIV.,  ch.  36 ;  and  for 
theii'  appearance  in  England,  Smollet  ad.  ann.,  and  Chesterfield's  AVorks, 
4to,  V.  i.  ;  p.  523.— G. 

*  iV^o^  as  I  thinks  <fcc.  It  should  have  been  "not  that  I  think," — or 
"  not  as  being  inferior," — or     not  as  thinking  them,"  <tc. — H. 


No.  160.] 


SPECTATOR. 


387 


cramp  their  own  abilities  too  much  by  imitation,  and  form  them- 
selves altogether  upon  models,  without  giving  the  full  play 
to  their  own  natural  parts.  An  imitation  of  the  best  authors  is 
not  to  compare  with  a  good  original  ;  and  I  believe  we  may 
observe  that  very  few  writers  make  an  extraordinary  figure  in 
the  world,  who  have  not  something  in  their  way  of  thinking,  or 
expressing  themselves,  that  is  peculiar  to  them,  and  entirely  their 
own. 

It  is  odd  to  consider  what  great  geniuses  are  sometimes 
thrown  away  upon  trifles. 

I  once  saw  a  shepherd,  says  a  famous  Italian  author,  who  used 
to  divert  himself  in  his  solitudes  with  tossing  up  eggs,  and 
catching  them  again,  without  breaking  them  :  in  which  he  had 
arrived  to  so  great  a  degree  of  perfection,  that  he  would  keep  up 
four  at  a  time  for  several  minutes  together,  playing  in  the  air, 
and  falling  into  his  hand  by  turns.  I  think,  says  the  author, 
I  never  saw  a  greater  severity  than  in  this  man's  face ;  for  by  his 
wonderful  perseverance  and  application,  he  had  contracted  the 
seriousness  and  gravity  of  a  privy  counsellor  :  I  could  not  but 
reflect  with  myself,  that  the  same  assiduity  and  attention,  had 
they  been  rightly  applied,  might^  have  made  him  a  greater 
mathematician  than  Archimedes.  C. 

^  The  fol.  reads — would. — G. 


388 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  162. 


No.  162.    WEDNESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  5. 

 Servctur  ad  imum 

Qnalis  ab  inccpto  processerit,  et  sibi  constet. 

IIoR.  Ars  Poet.  126. 
Keep  one  consistent  plan  from  end  to  end. 

Nothing  that  is  not  a  real  crime,  makes  a  man  appear  so  con- 
temptible and  little  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  inconstancy, 
especially  when  it  regards  religion  or  party. ^  In  either  of  these 
cases,  though  a  man  perhaps  does  but  his  duty  in  changing  his 
side,  he  not  only  makes  himself  hated  by  those  he  left,  but  is 
seldom  heartily  esteemed  by  those  he  comes  over  to. 

In  these  great  articles  of  life,  therefore,  a  man's  conviction 
ought  to  be  very  strong,  and,  if  possible,  so  well  timed,  that 
worldly  advantages  may  seem  to  have  no  share  in  it,  or  mankind 
will  be  ill-natured  enough  to  think  he  does  not  change  sides  out 
of  principle,  but  either  out  of  levity  of  temper,  or  prospects 
of  interest.  Converts  and  renegadoes  of  all  kinds  should  take 
particular  care  to  let  the  world  see  they  act  upon  honourable 
motives  ;  or  whatever  approbations  they  may  receive  from  them- 
selves, and  applauses  from  those  they  converse  with,  they  may  be 
very  well  assured  that  they  are  the  scorn  of  all  good  men,  and  the 
public  marks  of  infamy  and  derision. 

Irresolution  on  the  schemes  of  life  which  offer  themselves  to 
our  choice,  and  inconstancy  in  pursuing  them,  are  the  greatest  and 
most  universal  cauSS^  of  all  our  disquiet  and  unhappiness.  When 
ambition  pulls  one  way,  interest  another,  inclination  a  third,  and 
perhaps  reason  contrary  to  all,  a  man  is  likely  to  pass  his  time  but 

^  This  paper  has  been  supposed  to  contain  oblique  strokes  at  Swift^ 
Prior,  <fec,,  who  had  changed  their  politics — :i  conjecture  supported,  per- 
haps, by  a  passage  in  Steele's  letter  to  Congreve  (V.  vol.  i.),  but  after  all  a 
mere  conjecture.  Where  the  general  truth  is  so  evident,  why  should  we 
look  for  personal  allusions  ? — G. 


No.  162.] 


SPECTATOR. 


889 


ill  who  has  so  many  different  parties  to  please.  When  the  mind 
hovers  among  such  a  variety  of  allurements,  one  had  better  settle 
on  a  way  of  life  that  is  not  the  very  best  we  might  have  chosen, 
than  grow  old  without  determining  our  choice,  and  go  out  of  the 
world,  as  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  do,  before  we  have  resolved 
how  to  live  in  it.  There  is  but  one  method  of  setting  ourselves 
at  rest  in  this  particular,  and  that  is,  by  adhering  steadfastly  to 
one  great  end,  as  the  chief  and  ultimate  aim  of  all  our  pursuits. 
If  we  are  firmly  resolved  1o  live  up  to  the  dictates  of  reason, 
without  any  regard  to  wealth,  reputation,  or  the  like  considera- 
tions, any  more  than  as  they  fall  in  with  our  principal  design,  we 
may  go  through  life  with  steadiness  and  pleasure  ;  but  if  we  act 
by  several  broken  views,  and  will  not  only  be  virtuous,  but 
wealthy,  popular,  and  every  thing  that  has  a  value  set  upon  it  by 
the  world,  we  shall  live  and  die  in  misery  and  repentance. 

One  would  take  more  than  ordinary  care  to  guard  one's  self 
against  this  particular  imperfection,  because  it  is  that  which  our 
nature  very  strongly  inclines  us  to ;  for  if  we  examine  ourselves 
thoroughly,  we  shall  find  that  we  are  the  most  changeable  beings 
in  the  universe.  In  respect  of  our  understanding,  we  often 
embrace  and  reject  the  very  same  opinions  ;  whereas  beings  above 
and  beneath  us,  have  probably  no  opinions  at  all,  or  at  least  no 
waverings  and  uncertainties  in  those  they  have.  Our  superiors 
are  guided  by  intuition,  and  our  inferiors  by  instinct.  In  respect 
of  our  wills,  we  fall  into  crimes,  and  recover  out  of  them, 
are  amiable  or  odious  in  the  eyes  of  our  great  Judge,  and  pass 
our  whole  life  in  offending  and  asking  pardon.  On  the  contrary 
the  beings  underneath  us  are  not  capable  of  sinning,  nor  those 
above  us  of  repenting.  The  one  is  out  of  the  possibilities 
of  duty,  and  the  other  fixed  in  an  eternal  course  of  sin,  or  an 
eternal  coui'se  of  virtue. 

There  is  scarce  a  state  of  life,  or  stage  in  it,  which  does  not 


390 


SPECTATOPw. 


[No.  162. 


produce  changes  and  revolutions  in  the  mind  of  man.  Our 
schemes  of  thought  in  infancy  are  lost  in  those  of  youth  ;  these 
too  take  a  different  turn  in  manhood,  till  old  age  often  leads  us 
back  into  our  former  infancy.  A  new  title,  or  an  unexpected 
success,  throws  us  out  of  ourselves,  and  in  a  manner  destroys  our 
identity.  A  cloudy  day,  or  a  little  sun-shine,  have  as  great  an 
influence  on  many  constitutions,  as  the  most  real  blessings  or 
misfortunes.  A  dream  varies  our  being,  and  changes  our  condi- 
tion while  it  lasts ;  and  every  passion,  not  to  mention  health  and 
sickness,  and  the  greater  alterations  in  body  and  mind,  makes  us 
appear  almost  different  creatures.  If  a  man  is  so  distinguished 
among  other  beings  by  this  infirmity,  what  can  we  think  of  such 
as  make  themselves  remarkable  for  it  even  among  their  own 
species  ?  It  is  a  very  trifling  character  to  be  one  of  the  most 
variable  beings  of  the  most  variable  kind,  especially  if  we  con- 
sider that  he  who  is  the  great  standard  of  perfection,  has  in  him 
no  shadow  of  change,  but  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for 
ever. 

As  this  mutability  of  temper  and  inconsistency  with  our- 
selves is  the  greatest  weakness  of  human  nature,  so  it  makes  the 
person  who  is  remarkable  for  it,  in  a  very  particular  manner  more 
ridiculous  than  any  other  infirmity  whatsoever,  as  it  sets  him  in 
a  greater  variety  of  foolish  lights,  and  distinguishes  him  from 
himself  by  an  opposition  of  party-coloured  characters.  The  most 
humorous  character  in  Horace  is  founded  upon  this  unevenness 
of  temper,  and  irregularity  of  conduct. 

 Sardus  Iiabebat 

lUe  Tigellius  hoc.    CjEsar  qui  cogere  posset, 
Si  peteret  per  amicitiam  patris,  atque  suam,  non 
Quidqiiam  proficeret:  Si  collibuisset,  ab  ovo 
Usque  ad  mala  citaret,  lo  Bacclie,  modo  summa 
Yoce,  modo  luic  resonat  quae  chordis  quatuor  ima. 
Nil  sequale  homini  fuit  ilia :  Sfepe  velut  qui 
Currebat  fugiens  liostem :  Perssepe  velut  qui 


No.  162.] 


SPECTATOR. 


391 


Junonis  sacra  ferret.    Ilabebat  saepe  duceritos, 
Saspe  decern  servos.    Modo,  reges  atque  tetrarchas, 
Omnia  magna  loqnens.    Modo  sit  mihi  mense  tripes,  et 
Concha  salis  puri,  et  toga,  quae  defendere  frigus, 
Quamvis  crassa,  queat.    Decies  centena  dedisses 
Huic  parco  paucis  contento,  quinque  diebus 
Nil  erat  in  loculis.    Noctes  vigilabat  ad  ipsum 
Mane  :  Diem  totam  stertebat.    Nil  fuit  unquam 
Sic  impar  sibi  

HoR.  Sat.  iii.  lib.  1. 

Instead  of  translating  this  passage  in  Horace,  I  shall  enter- 
tain my  English  reader  with  the  description  of  a  parallel  charac- 
ter, that  is  wonderfully  well  finished  by  Mr.  Dryden,  and  raised 
upon  the  same  foundation. 

In  the  first  rank  of  these  did  Zimri^  stand: 

A  man  so  various,  that  he  seem'd  to  be 

Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome. 

Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong ; 

Was  every  thing  by  starts,  and  nothing  long : 

But,  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon, 

AYas  Chemist,  Fiddler,  Statesman,  and  Bufi'oon : 

Then  all  for  Avomen,  painting,  rhyming,  drinking, 

Besides  ten  thousand  freaks  that  dy'd  in  thinking. 

Blest  madman,  who  cou'd  every  hour  employ, 

"With  something  new  to  wish,  or  to  enjoy  !  C. 

1  V.  Absalom  and  Architophel — Part  i.  v.  544.  The  real  character  was 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who  is  here  paid  in  full  for  his  share  in  the 
*  Rehearsal.'    Y.  No.       Note. — G. 


892 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  163. 


No.  163.    THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  6. 

 Si  quid  ego  adjuero,  curamve  levasso, 

Qua?  nunc  te  coquit,  et  versat  sub  pectore  fixa, 
Ecquid  orit  pretii  ? 

Enn.  Ap.  Tullium.   De  Senectute. 

Say,  will  you  thank  me  if  I  bring  you  rest, 
And  ease  the  torture  of  your  lab'ring  breast? 

Inquiries  after  happiness,  and  rules  for  attaining  it,  are  not 
so  necessary  and  useful  to  mankind  as  the  arts  of  consolation,  and 
supporting  *  one's  self  under  affliction.  The  utmost  we  can  hope 
for  in  this  world  is  contentment ;  if  we  aim  at  any  thing  higher, 
we  shall  meet  with  nothing  but  grief  and  disappointment.  A 
man  should  direct  all  his  studies  and  endeavours  at  making  him- 
self easy  now,  and  happy  hereafter. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  if  all  the  happiness  that  is  dispersed 
through  the  whole  race  of  mankind  in  this  world  were  drawn  to- 
gether, and  put  into  the  possession  of  any  single  man,  it  would 
not  make  a  very  happy  being.  Though,  on  the  contrary,  if  the 
miseries  of  the  whole  species  were  fixed  in  a  single  person,  they 
would  make  a  very  miserable  one. 

I  am  engaged  in  this  subject  by  the  following  letter,  which, 
though  subscribed  by  a  fictitious  namo,  I  have  reason  to  believe 
is  not  imaginary. 

Mr.  Spectator, 
"  I  am  one  of  your  disciples,  and  endeavour  to  live  up  to 
your  rules,  which  I  hope  will  incline  you  to  pity  my  condition ; 
I  shall  open  it  to  you  in  a  very  few  words.    About  three  years 
since  a  gentleman,  whom,  I  am  sure,  you  yourself  would  have  ap- 

^  We  may  say, — the  arts  of  consolation^  and  the  arts  of  supporting  07ics- 
self — but  not  both  together.  It  had  been  better  thus  :  the  arts  of  conso- 
lation and  directions  for  supporting  ones-se^f. — H. 


No.  163.] 


SPECTATOR. 


393 


proved,  made  his  addresses  to  me.  He  had  every  thing  to  re- 
commend him  but  an  estate,  so  that  my  friends,  who  all  of  them 
applauded  his  person,  would  not  for  the  sake  of  both  of  us  favour 
his  passion.  For  my  own  part,  I  resigned  myself  up  entirely  to 
the  direction  of  those  who  knew  the  world  much  better  than  my- 
self, but  still  lived  in  hopes  that  some  juncture  or  other  would 
make  me  happy  in  the  man  whom,  in  my  heart,  I  preferred  to  all 
the  world ;  being  determined,  if  I  could  not  have  him,  to  have 
nobody  else.  About  three  months  ago  I  received  a  letter  from 
him,  acquainting  me,  that  by  the  death  of  an  uncle  he  had  a  con- 
siderable estate  left  him,  which  he  said  was  welcome  to  him  upon 
no  other  account,  but  as  he  hoped  it  would  remove  all  difficulties 
that  lay  in  the  way  to  our  mutual  happiness.  You  may  well 
suppose,  sir,  with  how  much  joy  I  received  this  letter,  which  was 
followed  by  several  others  filled  with  those  expressions  of  love 
and  joy,  which  I  verily  believe  nobody  felt  more  sincerely,  nor 
knew  better  how  to  describe,  than  the  gentleman  I  am  speaking 
of.  But,  sir,  how  shall  I  be  able  to  tell  it  you !  By  the  last 
week's  post  I  received  a  letter  from  an  intimate  friend  of  this  un- 
happy gentleman,  acquainting  me,  that  as  he  had  just  settled  his 
affairs,  and  was  preparing  for  his  journey,  he  fell  sick  of  a  fever 
and  died.  It  is  impossible  to  express  to  you  the  distress  I  am 
in  upon  this  occasion,  I  can  only  have  recourse  to  my  devotions, 
and  to  the  reading  of  good  books  for  my  consolation  ;  and  as  I 
always  take  a  particular  delight  in  those  frequent  advices  and  ad- 
monitions which  you  give  the  public,  it  would  be  a  very  great 
piece  of  charity  in  you  to  lend  me  your  assistance  in  this  conjunc- 
ture. If,  after  the  reading  of  this  letter,  you  find  yourself  in  a 
humour  rather  to  rally  and  ridicule,  than  to  comfort  me,  I  desire 
you  would  throw  it  into  the  fire,  and  think  no  more  of  it ;  but  if 
you  are  touched  with  my  misfortune,  which  is  greater  than  I 


894 


SPECTATOPw. 


[No.  168. 


know  how  to  bear,  your  counsels  may  very  much  support,  and 
will  infinitely  oblige  the  afflicted 

Leonora."  ^ 

A  disappointment  in  love  is  more  hard  to  get  over  than  any 
other;  the  passion  itself  so  softens  and  subdues  the  heart,  that  it 
disables  it  from  struggling  or  bearing  up  against  the  woes  and 
distresses  which  befal  it.  The  mind  meets  with  other  misfor- 
tunes in  her  whole  strength  ;  she  stands  collected  within  herself, 
and  sustains  the  shock  with  all  the  force  which  is  natural  to  her; 
but  a  heart  in  love  has  its  foundations  sapped,  and  immediately 
sinks  under  the  weight  of  accidents  that  are  disagreeable  to  its 
favourite  passion. 

In  afflictions,  men  generally  draw  their  consolations  out  of 
books  of  morality,  which,  indeed,  are  of  great  use  to  fortify  and 
strengthen  the  mind  against  the  impressions  of  sorrow.  Monsieur 
St.  Evremont,  who  does  not  approve  of  this  method,  recommends 
authors  who  are  apt  to  stir  up  mirth  in  the  mind  of  the  readers, 
and  fancies  Don  Quixote  can  give  more  relief  to  an  heavy  heart, 
than  Plutarch  or  Seneca,  as  it  is  much  easier  to  divert  grief  than 
to  conquer  it.  This  doubtless  may  have  its  effects  on  some  tern- 
pers.  I  should  rather  have  recourse  to  authors  of  a  quite  con- 
trary kind,  that  give  us  instances  of  calamities  and  misfortunes, 
and  shew  human  nature  in  its  greatest  distresses. 

If  the  affliction  we  groan  under  be  very  heavy,  we  shall  find 
some  consolation  in  the  society  of  as  great  sufferers  as  ourselves, 
especially  when  we  find  our  companions  men  of  virtue  and  merit. 
If  our  afflictions  are  light,  we  shall  be  comforted  by  the  compari- 
sons we  make  between  ourselves  and  our  fellow-sufferers.  A  loss 
at  sea,  a  fit  of  sickness,  or  the  death  of  a  friend,  are  such  trifles 

1  Miss  Shepheard,  author  of  the  letter  signed  Parthenin,  in  No.  140 — a 
sister  of  the  Miss  S.  mentioned  in  No.  92. — G 


No.  163.] 


SPECTATOR. 


395 


when  we  consider  whole  kingdoms  laid  in  ashes,  families  put  to 
the  sword,  wretches  shut  up  in  dungeons,  and  the  like  calamities 
of  mankind,  that  we  are  out  of  countenance  for  our  own  weakness, 
if  we  sink  under  such  little  strokes  of  fortune. 

Let  the  disconsolate  Leonora  consider,  that  at  the  very  time 
in  which  she  languishes  for  the  loss  of  her  deceased  lover,  there 
are  persons  in  several  parts  of  the  world  just  perishing  in  a  ship- 
wreck ;  others  crying  out  for  mercy  in  the  terrors  of  a  death-bed 
repentance ;  others  lying  under  the  tortures  of  an  infamous  exe- 
cution, or  the  like  dreadful  calamities ;  and  she  will  find  her  sor- 
rows vanish  at  the  appearance  of  those  which  are  so  much  greater 
and  more  astonishiug. 

I  would  further  propose  to  the  consideration  of  my  afflicted 
disciple,  that  possibly  what  she  now  looks  upon  as  the  greatest 
misfortune,  is  not  really  such  in  itself  For  my  own  part,  I 
question  not  but  our  souls,  in  a  separate  state,  will  look  back  on 
their  lives  in  quite  another  view,  than  what  they  had  of  them  in 
the  body ;  and  that  what  they  now  consider  as  misfortunes  and 
disappointments,  will  very  often  appear  to  have  been  escapes  and 
blessings. 

The  mind  that  hath  any  cast  towards  devotion,  naturally  flies 
to  it  in  its  afflictions. 

When  I  was  in  France,  I  heard  a  very  remarkable  story  of 
two  lovers,  which  I  shall  relate  at  length  in  my  to-morrow's 
paper,  not  only  because  the  circumstances  of  it  are  extraordinary, 
but  because  it  may  serve  as  an  illustration  to  all  that  can  be  said 
on  this  last  head,  and  shew  the  power  of  religion  in  abating  that 
particular  anguish  which  seems  to  lie  so  heavy  on  Leonora.  The 
story  was  told  me  by  a  priest,  as  I  travelled  with  him  in  a  stage- 
coach. I  shall  give  it  my  reader,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  in 
his  own  words,  after  having  premised,  that  if  consolations  may  be 
drawn  from  a  wrong  religion,  and  a  misguided  devotion,  they 


396  SPECTATOR.  [No.  164. 

cannot  but  flow  mmh  more  naturally  from  those  which  are  found- 
ed upon  reason,  and  established  in  good  sense.  L. 


No.  164.    FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBER  7. 

Ilia;  quls  et  me,  inquit,  miseram,  et  te  perdidit,  Orpheu? 
Jamque  vale  :  feror  Ingenti  circumdata  nocte, 
Invalidasque  tibi  tendens,  heu !  non  tua,  palmas. 

ViRG 

Then  thus  the  bride  :  What  fury  siezed  on  theo, 

Unhappy  man  !  to  lose  thyself  and  me? 

And  now  farewell !  involved  in  shades  of  night, 

For  ever  I  am  ravish'd  from  thy  sight ; 

In  vain  I  reach  my  feeble  hards  to  join 

In  sweet  embraces,  ah !  no  longer  thine ! 

Dryden. 

CoNSTANTiA  ^  was  a  woman  of  extraordinary  wit  and  beauty, 
but  very  unhappy  in  a  father,  who  having  arrived  at  great  riches 
by  his  own  industry,  took  delight  in  nothing  but  his  money. 
Theodosius  was  the  younger  son  of  a  decayed  family,  of  great  parts 
and  learning,  improved  by  a  genteel  and  virtuous  education. 
When  he  was  in  the  twentieth  year  of  his  age,  he  became  acquaint- 
ed with  Constantia,  who  had  not  then  passed  her  fifteenth.  As 
he  lived  but  a  few  miles  distance  from  her  father's  house,  he  had 
frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  her  ;  and  by  the  advantages  of  a 
good  person,  and  a  pleasing  conversation,  made  such  an  impres- 
sion in  her  heart  as  it  was  impossible  for  time  to  efface  :  he  was 
himself  no  less  smitten  with  Constantia.  A  long  acquaintance 
made  them  still  discover  new  beauties  in  each  other,  and  by  de- 
grees raised  in  them  that  mutual  passion  which  had  an  influence 

1  Dr.  Langliorne's  Theodosius  and  Constantia  is  founded  upon  this 
paper  :  it  suggested  also  a  poem  in  which  Pope  was  said  to  have  lent  his 
assistance. — Gr. 


1^0.164.] 


SPECTATOR. 


397 


on  their  following  lives.  It  unfortunately  happened,  that  in  the 
midst  of  this  intercourse  of  love  and  friendship  between  Theo- 
dosius  and  Constantia,  there  broke  out  an  irreparable  quarrel 
between  their  parents,  the  one  valuing  himself  too  much  upon  his 
birth,  and  the  other  upon  his  possessions.  The  father  of  Con- 
stantia  was  so  incensed  at  the  father  of  Theodosius,  that  he 
contracted  an  unreasonable  aversion  towards  his  son,  insomuch 
that  he  forbad  him  his  house,  and  charged  his  daughter  upon  her 
duty  never  to  see  him  more.  In  the  mean  time,  to  break  off  all 
communication  between  the  two  lovers,  who  he  knew  entertained 
secret  hopes  of  some  favourable  opportunity  that  should  bring 
them  together,  he  found  out  a  young  gentleman  of  a  good  fortune 
and  an  agreeable  person,  whom  he  pitched  upon  as  a  husband  for 
his  daughter.  He  soon  concerted  this  affair  so  well,  that  he  told 
Constantia  it  was  his  design  to  marry  her  to  such  a  gentleman, 
and  that  her  wedding  should  be  celebrated  on  such  a  day.  Constan- 
tia, who  was  overawed  with  the  authority  of  her  father,  and  un- 
able to  object  any  thing  against  so  advantageous  a  match,  received 
the  proposal  with  a  profound  silence,  which  her  father  commended 
in  her,  as  the  most  decent  manner  of  a  virgin's  giving  her  consent 
to  an  overture  of  that  kind.  The  noise  of  this  intended  marriage 
soon  reached  Theodosius,  who  after  a  long  tumult  of  passions 
which  naturally  rise  in  a  lover's  heart  on  such  an  occasion,  writ 
the  following  letter  to  Constantia. 

"  The  thought  of  my  Constantia,  which  for  some  years  has 
been  my  only  happiness,  is  now  become^a  greater  torment  to  me 
than  I  am  able  to  bear.  Must  I  then  live  to  see  you  another's  ? 
The  streams,  the  fields,  and  meadows,  where  we  have  so  often 
talked  together,  grow  painful  to  me  ;  life  itself  is  become  a  burden. 
May  you  long  be  happy  in  the  world,  but  forget  that  there  was 
3ver  such  a  man  in  it  as 

"  Theodosius." 


398 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  164. 


This  letter  was  conveyed  to  Constantia  that  very  evening, 
who  fainted  at  the  reading  of  it ;  and  the  next  morning  she  was 
much  more  alarmed  by  two  or  three  messengers,  that  came  to  her 
father's  house  one  after  another,  to  inquire  if  they  had  heard  any 
thing  of  Theodo&ius,  who  it  seems  had  left  his  chamber  about 
midnight,  and  could  no  where  be  found.  The  deep  melancholy 
which  had  hung  upon  his  mind  some  time  before,  made  them  ap- 
prehend the  worst  that  could  befal  him.  Constantia,  who  knew 
that  nothing  but  the  report  of  her  marriage  could  have  driven 
him  to  such  extremities,  was  not  to  be  comforted  :  she  now  accus- 
ed herself  for  having  so  tamely  given  an  ear  to  the  proposal  of  a 
husband,  and  looked  upon  the  new  lover  as  the  murderer  of  The- 
odosius  :  in  short,  she  resolved  to  suffer  the  utmost  effects  of  her 
father's  displeasure,  rather  than  comply  with  a  marriage  which 
appeared  to  her  so  full  of  guilt  and  horror.  The  father  seeing 
himself  entirely  rid  of  Theodosius,  and  likely  to  keep  a  consi- 
derable portion  in  his  family,  was  not  very  much  concerned  at 
the  obstinate  refusal  of  his  daughter ;  and  did  not  find  it  very 
difficult  to  excuse  himself  upon  that  account  to  his  intended  son- 
in-law,  who  had  all  along  regarded  this  alliance  rather  as  a  mar- 
riage of  convenience  than  of  love.  Constantia  had  now  no  relief 
but  in  her  devotions  and  exercises  of  religion,  to  which  her  afilic- 
tions  had  so  entirely  subjected  her  mind,  that  after  some  years 
had  abated  the  violence  of  her  sorrows,  and  settled  her  thoughts 
in  a  kind  of  tranquillity,  she  resolved  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
her  days  in  a  convent.  Her  father  was  not  displeased  with  a 
resolution  which  would^  save  money  in  his  family,  and  readily 
complied  with  his  daughter's  intentions.  Accordingly,  in  the 
twenty-fifth  year  of  her  age,  while  her  beauty  was  ^''et  in  all  its 
height  and  bloom,  he  carried  her  to  a  neighbouring  city,  in  order 
to  look  out  a  sisterhood  of  nuns  among  whom  to  place  his  daugh- 
ter.   There  was  in  this  place  a  father  of  a  convent  who  was  very 


No.  164.] 


SPECTATOR. 


399 


much  renowned  for  his  piety  and  exemplary  life ;  and  as  it  is  usual 
in  the  Romish  church  for  those  who  are  under  any  great  affliction, 
or  trouble  of  mind,  to  apply  themselves  to  the  most  eminent  con- 
fessors for  pardon  and  consolation,  our  beautiful  votary  took  the 
opportunity  of  confessing  herself  to  this  celebrated  father. 

We  must  now  return  to  Theodosius,  who  the  very  morning 
that  the  above-mentioned  inquiries  had  been  made  after  him,  ar- 
rived at  a  religious  house  in  the  city,  where  now  Constantia 
resided ;  and  desiring  that  secrecy  and  concealment  of  the 
fathers  of  the  convent,  which  is  very  usual  upon  any  extraordi- 
nary occasion,  he  made  himself  one  of  the  order,  with  a  private 
vow  never  to  inquire  after  Constantia ;  whom  he  looked  upon  as 
given  away  to  his  rival  upon  the  day  on  which,  according  to 
common  fame,  their  marriage  was  to  have  been  solemnized. 
Having  in  his  youth  made  a  good  progress  in  learning,  that  he 
might  dedicate  himself  more  entirely  to  religion,  he  entered  into 
holy  orders,  and  in  a  few  years  became  renowned  for  his  sanctity 
of  life,  and  those  pious  sentiments  w^hich  he  inspired  into  all 
who  conversed  with  him.  It  was  this  holy  man  to  whom  Con- 
stantia had  determined  to  apply  herself  in  confession,  though 
neither  she,  nor  any  other  besides  the  prior  of  the  convent, 
knew  any  thing  of  his  name  or  family.  The  gay,  the  amiable 
Theodosius  had  now  taken  upon  him  the  name  of  father  Francis ; 
and  was  so  far  concealed  in  a  long  beard,  a  shaven  head,  and  a 
religious  habit,  that  it  was  impossible  to  discover  the  man  of 
the  world  in  the  venerable  conventual. 

As  he  was  one  morning  shut  up  in  his  confessional,  Constan- 
tia kneeling  by  him,  opened  the  state  of  her  soul  to  him :  and 
after  having  given  him  the  history  of  a  life  full  of  innocence,  she 
burst  out  into  tears,  and  entered  upon  that  part  of  her  story,  in 
which  he  himself  had  so  great  a  share.  '  My  behaviour  (says 
she,)  has,  I  fear,  been  the  death  of  a  man  who  had  no  other  fault 


400 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  1C4. 


but  that  of  loving  me  too  much.    Heaven  only  knows  how  dear 
he  was  to  me  whilst  he  lived,  and  how  bitter  the  remembrance 
of  him  has  been  to  me  since  his  death.'    She  here  paused,  and 
lifted  up  her  eyes,  that  streamed  with  tears,  towards  the  father; 
who  was  so  moved  with  the  sense  of  her  sorrows,  that  he  could 
only  command  his  voice,  which  was  broke  with  sighs  and  sob- 
bings, so  far  as  to  bid  her  proceed.    She  followed  his  directions, 
and  in  a  flood  of  tears  poured  out  her  heart  before  him.  The 
father  could  not  forbear  weeping  aloud,  insomuch  that  in  the 
agonies  of  his  grief  the  seat  shook  under  him.  Constantia, 
who  thought  the  good  man  was  thus  moved  by  his  compassion 
towards  her,  and  by  the  horror  of  her  guilt,  proceeded  with  the 
utmost  contrition  to  acquaint  him  with  that  vow  of  virginity  in 
which  she  was  going  to  engage  herself,  as  the  proper  atonement 
for  her  sins,  and  the  only  sacrifice  she  could  make  to  the  mem- 
ory of  Theodosius.    The  father,  who  by  this  time  had  pretty 
well  composed  himself,  burst  out  again  in  tears  upon  hearing  that 
name  to  which  he  had  been  so  long  disused,  and  upon  receiving 
this  instance  of  an  unparalleled  fidelity  from  one  who  he  thought 
had  several  years  since  given  herself  up  to  the  possession  of 
another.    Amidst  the  interruptions  of  his  sorrow,  seeing  his 
penitent  overwhelmed  with  grief,  he  was  only  able  to  bid  her 
from  time  to  time  be  comforted — To  tell  her  that  her  sins  were 
forgiven  her — That  her  guilt  was  not  so  great  as  she  appre- 
hended— That  she  should  not  suffer  herself  to  be  afflicted  above 
measure.    After  which  he  recovered  himself  enough  to  give  her 
the  absolution  in  form ;  directing  her  at  the  same  time  to  repaii 
to  him  again  the  next  day,  that  he  might  encourage  her  in  the 
pious  resolutions  she  had  taken,  and  give  her  suitable  exhorta 
tions  for  her  behaviour  in  it.    Constantia  retired,  and  the  next 
morning  renewed  her  applications.    Theodosius  having  manned 
his  soul  with  proper  thoughts  and  reflections,  exerted  himself  on 


No.  164.] 


SPECTATOR. 


401 


this  occasion  in  the  best  manner  he  could,  to  animate  his  penitent 
in  the  course  of  life  she  was  entering  upon,  and  wear  out  of  her 
mind  those  groundless  fears  and  apprehensions  which  had  taken 
possession  of  it ;  concluding,  with  a  promise  to  her,  that  he  would 
from  time  to  time  continue  his  admonition  when  she  should  have 
taken  upon  her  the  holy  veil.  '  The  rules  of  our  respective 
orders,  (says  he,)  will  not  permit  that  I  should  see  you ;  but  you 
may  assure  yourself  not  only  of  having  a  place  in  my  prayers, 
but  of  receiving  such  frequent  instructions  as  I  can  convey  to 
you  by  letters.  Go  on  cheerfull}^  in  the  glorious  course  you 
have  undertaken,  and  you  will  quickly  find  such  a  peace  and 
satisfaction  in  your  mind,  which''  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  the 
world  to  give.' 

Constantia's  heart  was  so  elevated  with  the  discourse  of  fa- 
ther Francis,  that  the  very  next  day  she  entered  upon  her  vow. 
As  soon  as  the  solemnities  of  her  reception  were  over,  she  re- 
tired, as  it  is  usual,  with  the  abbess  into  her  own  apartment. 

The  abbess  had  been  informed  the  night  before  of  all  that 
had  passed  between  her  noviciate  and  father  Francis  :  from 
whom  she  now  delivered  to  her  the  following  letter : 

"  As  the  first  fruits  of  those  joys  and  consolations  which  you 
may  expect  from  the  life  you  are  now  engaged  in,  I  must  acquaint 
you  that  Theodosius,  whose  death  sits  so  heavy  upon  your 
thoughts,  is  still  alive ;  and  that  the  father  to  whom  you  have 
confessed  yourself,  was  once  that  Theodosius  whom  you  so  much 
lament.  The  love  which  we  have  had  for  one  another  will  make 
us  more  happy  in  its  disappointment,  than  it  could  have  done  in 
its  success.  Providence  has  disposed  of  us  for  our  advantage, 
though  not  according  to  our  wishes.    Consider  your  Theodosius 


»  It  should  be  a-i-^-H. 


402 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  164. 


still  as  dead,  but  assure  yourself  of  one  who  will  not  cease  to 
pray  for  you  in  father 

^  Francis.'^ 

Constantia  saw  that  the  hand-writing  agreed  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter  :  and  upon  reflecting  on  the  voice  of  the  person, 
the  behaviour,  and,  above  all,  the  extreme  sorrow  of  the  father 
during  her  confession,  she  discovered  Theodosius  in  every  parti- 
cular. After  having  wept  with  tears  of  joy,  ^  It  is  enough,  (says 
she,)  Theodosius  is  still  in  being ;  I  shall  live  with  comfort,  and 
die  in  peace.' 

The  letters  which  the  father  sent  her  afterwards  are  yet  ex- 
tant in  the  nunnery  where  she  resided,  and  are  often  read  to  the 
young  religious,  in  order  to  inspire  them  with  good  resolutions 
and  sentiments  of  virtue.  It  so  happened,  that  after  Constantia 
had  lived  about  ten  years  in  the  cloister,  a  violent  fever  broke 
out  in  the  place,  which  swept  away  great  multitudes,  and  among 
others,  Theodosius.  Upon  his  death-bed  he  sent  his  benediction 
in  a  very  moving  manner  to  Constantia  ;  who  at  that  time  was 
herself  so  far  gone  in  the  same  fatal  distemper,  that  she  lay  deli- 
rious. Upon  the  interval  which  generally  precedes  death  in  sick- 
nesses of  this  nature,  the  abbess  finding  that  the  physicians  had 
given  her  over,  told  her  that  Theodosius  was  just  gone  before  her, 
and  that  he  had  sent  her  his  benediction  in  his  last  moments. 
Constantia  received  it  with  pleasure,  ^  And  now,  (says  she,)  if  I 
do  not  ask  any  thing  improper,  let  me  be  buried  by  Theodosius. 
My  vow  reaches  no  farther  than  the  grave.  AYhat  I  ask  is,  I  hope, 
no  violation  of  it.' — She  died  soon  after,  and  was  interred  accord- 
ing to  her  request. 

Their  tombs  are  still  to  be  seen,  with  a  short  Latin  inscrip- 
tion over  them  to  tlie  following  purpose. 


No.  165.] 


SPECTATOR. 


403 


Here  lie  the  bodies  of  father  Francis  and  sister  Constance. 
They  were  lovely  in  their  lives,  and  in  their  deaths  were  not 
divided."  C. 


No.  165.    SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  8. 

 Si  forte  necesse  est, 

Fingere  cinctutis  non  exaudita  Cetliegis, 
Continget :  dabiturque  licentia  sumpta  pudenter. 

HoR.  Ars.  Poet.  48.. 

 If  you  would  unheard  of  things  express, 

Invent  new  words :  we  can  indulge  a  muso, 
Until  the  licence  rise  to  an  abuse. 

Creech. 

I  HAVE  often  wished,  that  as  in  our  constitution  there  are 
several  persons  whose  business  it  is  to  watch  over  our  laws,  our 
liberties,  and  our  commerce,  certain  men  might  be  set  apart  as 
superintendants  of  our  language,  to  hinder  any  words  of  a  foreign 
coin  from  passing  among  us ;  and  in  particular  to  prohibit  any 
French  phrases  from  becoming  current  in  this  kingdom,  when 
those  of  our  own  stamp  are  altogether  as  valuable.  The  present  war 
has  so  adulterated  our  tongue  with  strange  words,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  one  of  our  great-grand-fathers  to  know  what  his 
posterity  have  been  doing,  were  he  to  read  their  exploits  in  a 
modern  newspaper.  Our  warriors  are  very  industrious  in  propa- 
gating the  French  language,  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  so 
gloriously  successful  in  beating  down  their  power.  Our  soldiers 
are  men  of  strong  heads  for  action,  and  perform  such  feats  as  they 
are  not  able  to  express.  They  want  words  in  their  own  tongue  to 
tell  us  what  it  is  they  achieve,  and  therefore  send  us  over  accounts 
of  their  performances  in  a  jargon  of  phrases,  which  they  learn 

"  When  the  reader  has  felt  the  pathos  of  this  little  melancholy  story,  it 
may  be  worth  his  while  to  go  over  it  again,  and  see  if  it  be  not  told 
throughout  in  the  purest  English. — H. 


404 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  165. 


among  their  conquered  enemies.  They  ought  however  to  be  pro- 
vided with  secretaries,  and  assisted  by  our  foreign  ministers,  to 
tell  their  story  for  them  in  plain  English,  and  to  let  us  know  in 
our  mother-tongue  what  it  is  our  brave  countrymen  are  about. 
The  French  would  indeed  be  in  the  right  to  publish  the  news  of 
the  present  war  in  English  phrases,  and  make  their  campaigns 
unintelligible.  Their  people  might  flatter  themselves  that  things 
are  not  so  bad  as  they  really  are,  were  they  thus  palliated  with 
foreign  terms,  and  thrown  into  shades  and  obscurity  :  but  the 
English  cannot  be  too  clear  in  their  narrative  of  those  actions 
which  have  raised  their  country  to  a  higher  pitch  of  glory  than  it 
ever  yet  arrived  at,  and  which  will  be  still  the  more  admired,  the 
better  they  are  explained. 

For  my  part,  by  that  time  a  siege  is  carried  on  two  or  three 
days,  I  am  altogether  lost  and  bewildered  in  it,  and  meet  with  so 
many  inexplicable  difficulties,  that  I  scarce  know  which  side  has 
the  better  of  it,  till  I  am  informed  by  the  tower  guns  that  the 
place  is  surrendered.  I  do  indeed  make  some  allowances  for  this 
part  of  the  war,  fortificatioQS  having  been  foreign  inventions,  and 
upon  that  account  abounding  in  foreign  terms.  But  when  we  have  won 
battles  which  may  be  described  in  our  own  language,  why  are  our 
papers  filled  with  so  many  unintelligible  exploits,  and  the  French 
obliged  to  lend  us  a  part  of  their  tongue  before  we  can  know  how 
they  are  conquered  ?  They  must  be  made  accessary  to  their  own 
disgrace,  as  the  Britons  were  formerly  so  artificially  wrought  in 
the  curtain  of  the  Boman  theatre,  that  they  seemed  to  draw  it  up 
in  order  to  give  the  spectators  an  opportunity  of  seeing  their  own 
defeat  celebrated  upon  the  stage  :  for  so  Mr.  Dry  den  has  transla 
ted  that  verse  in  Virgil, 

Atque  iiitertexti  tollant  aiilcea  Britanni. 

Georq.  iii.  26. 
Which  interwoven  Britains  seem  to  raise, 
And  shew  the  triumph  that  their  shame  displays. 


No.  165.] 


SPECTATOR. 


405 


The  histories  of  all  our  former  wars  are  transmitted  to  us  in 
our  vernacular  idiom,  to  use  the  phrase  of  a  great  modern  critic.^ 
I  do  not  find  in  any  of  our  chroniclers,  that  Edward  the  Third  ever 
reconnoitered  the  enemy,  though  he  had  often  discovered  the  pos- 
ture of  the  French,  and  as  often  vanquished  them  in  battle.  The 
Black  Prince  passed  many  a  river  without  the  help  of  pontoons, 
and  filled  a  ditch  with  faggots  as  successfully  as  the  generals  of 
our  times  do  it  with  fascines.  Our  commanders  lose  half  their 
praise,  and  our  people  half  their  joy,  by  means  of  those  hard 
words  and  dark  expressions  in  which  our  newspapers  do  so  much 
abound.  I  have  seen  many  a  prudent  citizen,  after  having  read 
every  article,  inquire  of  his  next  neighbour  what  news  the  mail 
had  brought 

I  remember  in  that  remarkable  year  when  our  country  was 
delivered  from  the  greatest  fears  and  apprehensions,  and  raised 
to  the  greatest  height  of  gladness  it  had  ever  felt  since  it  was  a 
nation  ;  I  mean  the  year  of  Blenheim,^  I  had  the  copy  of  a  letter 
sent  me  out  of  the  country,  which  was  written  from  a  young  gen- 
tleman in  the  army  to  his  father,  a  man  of  good  estate  and  plain 
sense  :  as  the  letter  was  very  modishly  chequered  with  this  mo- 
dern military  eloquence,  I  shall  present  my  reader  with  a  copy 
of  it. 

'^SlR, 

Upon  the  junction  of  the  French  and  Bavarian  armies  they 
took  post  behind  a  great  morass  which  they  thought  impracticable. 
Our  general  the  next  day  sent  a  party  of  horse  to  reconnoitre 
them  from  a  little  hauteur,  at  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  dis- 
tance from  the  army,  who  returned  again  to  camp  unobserved 
through  several  defiles,  in  one  of  which  they  met  with  a  party  of 
French  that  had  been  marauding,  and  made  them  all  prisoners  at 

1  Bentley.  llOA.  V.  vol.  i.  'The  Campaign.'— G. 


406 


SPECT  ATOR. 


[No.  165. 


discretion.  The  day  after  a  drum  arrived  at  our  camp,  with  a 
raessage  which  he  would  communicate  to  none  but  the  general : 
he  was  followed  by  a  trumpet,  who  they  say  behaved  himself  very 
saucily,  with  a  message  from  the  Duke  of  Bavaria.  The  next 
morning  our  army  being  divided  into  two  corps,  made  a  move- 
ment towards  the  enemy  :  you  will  hear  in  the  public  prints  how 
we  treated  them,  with  the  other  circumstances  of  that  glorious 
day.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  in  the  regiment  that  pushed 
the  Gens  d' Arms.  Several  French  battalions,  who  some  say  were 
a  Corps  de  Eeserve,  made  a  show  of  resistance  ;  but  it  only  proved 
a  gasconade,  for  upon  our  preparing  to  fill  up  a  little  fosse  in 
order  to  attack  them,  they  beat  the  Chamade,  and  sent  us  Charte 
Blanche.  Their  commandant,  with  a  great  many  other  general 
officers,  and  troops  without  number,  are  made  prisoners  of  war, 
and  will,  I  believe,  give  you  a  visit  in  England,  the  cartel  not  being 
yet  settled.  Not  questioning  but  these  particulars  will  be  very 
w^elcome  to  you,  I  congratulate  you  upon  them,  and  am  your 
most  dutiful  son," &c. 

The  father  of  the  young  gentleman  upon  the  perusal  of  the  let- 
ter found  it  contained  great  news,  but  could  not  guess  what  it  was. 
He  immediately  communicated  it  to  the  curate  of  the  parish,  who 
upon  the  reading  of  it,  being  vexed  to  see  any  thing  he  could  not 
understand,  fell  into  a  kind  of  passion,  and  told  him,  that  his  son 
had  sent  him  a  letter  that  was  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  good  red 
herring.  I  wish,  said  he,  the  captain  may  be  compos  mentis^  he 
talks  of  a  saucy  trumpet,  and  a  drum  that  carries  messages  ;  then 
who  is  this  Charte  Blanche  ?  he  must  either  banter  us,  or  he  is 
out  of  his  senses.   The  father,  who  always  looked  upon  the  curate 

*  It  is  remarkable  that  most  of  the  French  terms  inserted  in  this  letter, 
in  order  to  expose  the  affectation  of  the  writer,  are  now  grown  so  familiar 
among  us,  that  few  men  would  think  of  expressing  themselves,  on  the  like 
occasion,  in  any  other. — H. 


No.  166.] 


SPECTATOR. 


407 


as  a  learned  man,  began  to  fret  inwardly  at  his  son's  usage,  and 
producing  a  letter  which  he  had  written  to  him  about  three  posts 
afore,  You  see  here,  says  he,  when  he  writes  for  money,  he  knows 
how  to  speak  intelligibly  enough ;  there  is  no  man  in  England 
can  express  himself  clearer,  when  he  wants  a  new  furniture  for 
his  horse.  In  short,  the  old  man  was  so  puzzled  upon  the  point, 
that  it  might  have  fared  ill  with  his  son,  had  he  not  seen  all 
the  prints  about  three  days  after  filled  with  the  same  terms  of 
art,  and  that  Charles  only  writ  like  other  men.^  L. 


No.  166.    MONDAY,  SEPTExMBER  10. 

 Quod  nec  Jovis  ira,  nec  ignis, 

Nec  poterit  ferrum,  nec  edax  abolere  vetustas. 

Ovid.   Met.  xv.  8T1. 

 Which  nor  dreads  the  rage 

Of  tempest,  fire,  war,  or  wasting  age. 

Welsted. 

Aristotle  tells  us,  that  the  world  is  a  copy  or  transcript  of 
those  ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  the  first  being,  and  those 
ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  man,  are  a  transcript  of  the 
world  :  to  this  we  may  add,  that  words  are  the  transcript  of 
those  ideas  which  are  in  the  mind  of  man,  and  that  writing  or 
printing  is  the  transcript  of  words. 

As  the  Supreme  Being  has  expressed,  and  as  it  were  printed 
his  ideas  in  the  creation,  men  express  their  ideas  in  books,  which 
by  this  great  invention  of  these  latter  ages,  may  last  as  long  as 
the  sun  and  moon,  and  perish  only  in  the  general  wreck  of  nature. 

^  The  author  of  the  Spy  upon  the  Spectator  wrote  an  answer  to  this 
called — 'The  Spectator  Inspected,  or  a  letter  to  the  Spectator  from  an  offi- 
cer of  the  army  in  Flanders  touching  the  use  of  French  terms,'  &c..~G. 


408 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  166. 


Thus  Cowley  in  his  poem  on  the  resurrection,  mentioning  the  de- 
struction of  the  universe,  has  those  admirable  lines. 

Now  all  the  Avide  extended  sky, 
And  all  th'  harmonious  worlds  on  high, 
And  YirgiFs  sacred  work  shall  die. 

There  is  no  other  method  of  fixing  those  thoughts  which  arise 
and  disappear  in  the  mind  of  man,  and  transmitting  them  to  the 
last  periods  of  time  ;  no  other  method  of  giving  a  permanency  to 
our  ideas,  and  preserving  the  knowledge  of  any  particular  person, 
when  his  body  is  mixed  with  the  common  mass  of  matter,  and  his 
soul  retired  into  the  world  of  spirits.  Books  are  the  legacies 
that  a  great  genius  leaves  to  mankind,  which  are  delivered 
down  from  generation  to  generation,  as  presents  to  the  posterity 
of  those  who  are  yet  unborn. 

All  other  arts  of  perpetuating  our  ideas  continue  but  a  short 
time  :  statues  can  last  but  a  few  thousands  of  years,  edifices 
fewer,  and  colours  still  fewer  than  edifices.  Michael  Angelo, 
Fontana,  and  Raphael,  will  hereafter  be  what  Phidias,  Yitru- 
vius,  and  Apelles  are  at  present ;  the  names  of  great  statuaries, 
architects,  and  painters,  whose  works  are  lost.  The  several  arts 
are  expressed  in  mouldering  materials ;  nature  sinks  under 
them,  and  is  not  able  to  support  the  ideas  which  are  imprest 
upon  it. 

The  circumstance  which  gives  authors  an  advantage  above  all 
these  great  masters,  is  this,  that  they  can  multiply  their  origi- 
nals ;  or  rather  can  make  copies  of  their  works,  to  what  number 
they  please,  which  shall  be  as  valuable  as  the  originals  them- 
selves. This  gives  a  great  author  something  like  a  prospect  of 
eternity,  but  at  the  same  time  deprives  him  of  those  other  advan- 
tages which  artists  meet  with.  The  artist  finds  greater  returns 
in  profit,  as  the  author  in  fame.     What  an  inestimable  price 


Ko.  166.] 


SPECTATOR. 


409 


would  a  Yirgil  or  a  Homer,  a  Cicero  or  an  Aristotle  bear,  were 
their  works  like  a  statue,  a  building,  or  a  picture,  to  be  con- 
fined only  in  one  place,  and  made  the  property  of  a  single  per- 
son. 

If  writings  are  thus  durable,  and  may  pass  from  age  to  age 
throughout  the  whole  course  of  time,  how  careful  should  an  au- 
thor be  of  committing  any  thing  to  print  that  may  corrupt  pos- 
terity, and  poison  the  minds  of  men  with  vice  and  error  ?  Wri- 
ters of  great  talents,  who  employ  their  parts  in  propagating  im- 
morality, and  seasoning  vicious  sentiments  with  wit  and  humour, 
are  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  pest  of  society  and  the  enemies  of 
mankind  :  they  leave  books  behind  them  (as  it  is  said  of  those 
who  die  in  distempers  which  breed  an  ill-will  towards  their  own 
species)  to  scatter  infection  and  destroy  their  posterity.  They 
act  the  counter-parts  of  a  Confucius  or  a  Socrates  ;  and  seem  to 
have  been  sent  into  the  world  to  deprave  human  nature,  and  sink 
it  into  the  condition  of  brutality. 

I  have  seen  some  Roman  Catholic  authors,  who  tell  us,  that 
vicious  writers  continue  in  purgatory  so  long  as  the  influence  of 
their  writings  continues  upon  posterity  :  for  purgatory,  say  they, 
is  nothing  else  but  a  cleansing  us  of  our  sins,  which  cannot  be 
said  to  be  done  away,  so  long  as  they  continue  to  operate  and 
corrupt  mankind.  The  vicious  author,  say  they,  sins  after 
death,  and  so  long  as  he  continues  to  sin,  so  long  must  he  expect 
to  be  punished.  Though  the  Roman  Catholic  notion  of  purga- 
tory be  indeed  very  ridiculous,  one  cannot  but  think  that  if  the 
soul  after  death  has  any  knowledge  of  what  passes  in  this  world, 
that  of  an  immoral  writer  would  receive  muck  more  regret  from 
the  sense  of  corrupting,  than  satisfaction  from  the -thought  of 
pleasing,  his  surviving  admirers. 
*  To  take  off  from  the  severity  of  this  speculation,  I  shall  cop- 

clude  this  paper  with  a  story  of  an  atheistical  author,  who,  at  a 

VOL.   V. — 18 


410 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  16ft 


time  when  he  lay  dangerously  sick,  and  had  desired  the  assist 
ance  of  a  neighbouring  curate,  confessed  to  him  with  great  con- 
trition, that  nothing  sat  more  heavy  at  his  heart  than  the  sense 
of  his  having  seduced  the  age  by  his  writings,  and  that  their  evil 
influence  was  likely  to  continue  even  after  his  death.  The  curate, 
upon  further  examination,  finding  the  penitent  in  the  utmost 
agonies  of  despair,  and  being  himself  a  man  of  learning,  told  him, 
that  he  hoped  his  case  was  not  so  desperate  as  he  apprehended, 
since  he  found  that  he  was  so  very  sensible  of  his  fault,  and  so 
sincerely  repented  of  it.  The  penitent  still  urged  the  evil  ten- 
dency of  his  book  to  subvert  all  religion,  and  the  little  ground  of 
hope  there  could  be  for  one  whose  writings  would  continue  to  do 
mischief  when  his  body  was  laid  in  ashes.  The  curate  finding  no 
other  way  to  comfort  him,  told  him,  that  he  did  well  in  being 
afflicted  for  the  evil  design  with  which  he  published  his  book  ; 
but  that  he  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that  there  was  no  danger 
of  its  doing  any  hurt.  That  his  cause  was  so  very  bad,  and  his 
arguments  so  weak,  that  he  did  not  apprehend  any  ill  effects  of 
it.  In  short,  that  he  might  rest  satisfied  that  his  book  could  do 
no  more  mischief  after  his  death,  than  it  had  done  whilst  he  was 
living.  To  which  he  added,  for  his  further  satisfaction,  that  he 
did  not  believe  any  besides  his  particular  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance had  ever  been  at  the  pains  of  reading  it,  or,  that  any  body 
after  his  death  would  ever  inquire  after  it.  The  dying  man  had 
still  so  much  of  the  frailty  of  an  author  in  him,  as  to  be  cut  to 
the  heart  with  these  consolations ;  and,  without  answering  the 
good  mau,  asked  his  friends  about  him  (with  a  peevishness  that 
is  natural  to  a  sick  person)  where  they  had  picked  up  such  a 
blockhead  ?  and,  whether  they  thought  him  a  proper  person  to 
attend  one  in  his  condition  ?  The  curate  finding  that  the  author 
did  not  expect  to  be  dealt  with  as  a  real  and  sincere  penitent,  but 
as  a  penitent  of  importance,  after  a  short  admonition,  withdrew  ; 


No.  169.] 


SPECTATOR. 


411 


not  questioning  but  he  should  be  again  sent  for  i^  the  sickness 
grew  desperate.  The  author  however  recovered,  and  has  since 
written  two  or  three  otl^er  tracts,  with  the  same  spirit,  and  very 
luckily  for  his  poor  soul,  with  the  same  success.^  C. 


No.  169.    THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  13. 

Sic  vita  erat :  facile  omnes  perferre  ac  pati : 
Cum  quibus  erat  cunque  una,  his  sese  dedere, 
Eorura  obsequi  studiis:  adversus  nemini; 
Nunquam  praponens  se  aliis.    Ita  facillirae 

Sine  invidia  invenias  laudem.  

Tek.  And.  Act  1,  sc.  1. 

His  manner  of  life  was  this:  to  bear  with  every  body's  humours;  to  comply  with  the  in- 
clinations and  pursuits  of  those  he  conversed  with  ;  to  contradict  nobody  ;  never  to  as- 
sume a  superiority  over  others.  This  is  the  ready  way  to  gain  applause,  without  ex- 
citing envy. 

Man  is  subject  to  innumerable  pains  and  sorrows  by  the  very 
condition  of  humanity,  and  yet,  as  if  nature  had  not  sown  evils 
enough  in  life,  we  are  continually  adding  grief  to  grief,  and  ag- 
gravating the  common  calamity  by  our  cruel  treatment  of  one 
another.  Every  man's  natural  weight  of  affliction  is  still  made 
more  heavy  by  the  envy,  malice,  treachery,  or  injustice  of  his 
neighbour.  At  the  same  time  that  the  storm  beats  on  the  whole 
species,  we  are  falling  foul  upon  one  another. 

Half  the  misery  of  human  life  might  be  extinguished,  would 
men  alleviate  the  general  curse  they  lie  under,  by  mutual  offices 
of  compassion,  benevolence,  and  humanity.  There  is  nothing, 
therefore,  which  we  ought  more  to  encourage  in  ourselves  and 

1  This  was,  probably,  Mr.  John  Toland,  anther  of  the  Life  of  Milton, 
whose  deisiical  writings  had  exposed  him  to  the  repeated  attacks  of  the 
Tatler.    There  appears  to  be  another  blow  aimed  at  him  in  No.  284. — ^1* 


412 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  169. 


others,  than  the  dispositioa  of  mind  which  in  our  language  goes 
under  the  title  of  good-nature,  and  which  I  shall  chuse  for  the 
subject  of  this  day's  speculation. 

Good-nature  is  more  agreeable  in  conversation  than  wit,  and 
gives  a  certain  air  to  the  countenance  which  is  more  amiable  than 
beauty.  It  shews  virtue  in  the  fairest  light,  takes  off  in  some 
measure  from  the  deformity  of  vice,  and  makes  even  folly  and 
impertinence  supportable. 

There  is  no  society  or  conversation  to  be  kept  up  in  the 
world  without  good-nature,  or  something  which  must  bear  its 
appearance,'  and  supply  its  place.  For  this  reason  mankind  have 
been  forced  to  invent  a  kind  of  artificial  humanity,  which  is  what 
we  express  by  the  word  good-breeding.  For  if  we  examine  thor- 
oughly the  idea  of  what  we  call  so,  we  shall  find  it  to  be  nothing 
else  but  an  imitation  and  mimickry  of  good-nature,  or  in  other 
terms,  afi*ability,  complaisance  and  easiness  of  temper  reduced 
into  an  art. 

These  exterior  shows  and  appearances  of  humanity  render  a 
man  wonderfully  popular  and  beloved,  when  they  are  founded 
upon  a  real  good-nature ;  but  without  it  are  like  hypocrisy  in  re- 
ligion, or  a  bare  form  of  holiness,  which  when  it  is  discovered 
makes  a  man  more  detestable  than  professed  impiety. 

Good-nature  is  generally  born  witli  us  ;  health,  prosperity, 
and  kind  treatment  from  the  world  are  great  cherishers  of  it 
where  they  find  it,  but  nothing  is  capable  of  forcing  it  up,  where 
it  does  not  grow  of  itself.  It  is  one  of  the  blessings  of  a  happy 
constitution,  which  education  may  improve  but  not  produce. 

Xenophon  in  the  life  of  his  imaginary  prince,  whom  he  de- 
scribes as  a  pattern  for  real  ones,  is  always  celebrating  the  (phi- 
lanthropy or)  good-nature  of  his  hero,  which  he  tells  us  he  brought 
into  the  world  with  him,  and  gives  many  remarkable  instances  of 
it  in  his  childhood,  as  well  as  in  all  the  several  parts  of  his  life. 


No.  169.] 


SPECTATOR. 


413 


Nay,  on  his  death-bed,  he  describes  him  as  being  pleased,  that 
while  his  soul  returned  to  him  who  made  it,  his  body  should 
incorporate  with  the  great  mother  of  all  things,  and  by  that 
means  become  beneficial  to  mankind.  For  which  reason  he  gives 
his  sons  a  positive  order  not  to  enshrine  it  in  gold  or  silver,  but, 
to  lay  it  in  the  earth  as  soon  as  the  life  was  gone  out  of  it.^ 

An  instance  of  such  an  overflowing  of  humanity,  such  an  exu- 
berant love  to  mankind,  could  not  have  entered  into  the  imagi- 
nation of  a  writer,  who  had  not  a  soul  filled  with  great  ideas,  and 
a  general  benevolence  to  mankind. 

In  that  celebrated  passage  of  Sallust,^  where  Caesar  and  Cato 
are  placed  in  such  beautiful,  but  opposite  lights ;  Caesar's  charac- 
ter is  chiefly  made  up  of  good-nature,  as  it  shewed  itself  in  all  its 
forms  towards  his  friends  or  his  enemies,  his  servants  or  depend- 
ants, the  guilty  or  the  distressed.  As  for  Cato's  character,  it  is 
rather  awful  than  amiable.  Justice  seems  most  agreeable  to  the 
nature  of  Grod,  and  mercy  to  that  of  man.  A  being  who  has 
nothing  to  pardon  in  himself,  may  reward  every  man  according  to 
his  works ;  but  he  whose  very  best  actions  must  be  seen  with 
grains  of  allowance,  cannot  be  too  mild,  moderate,  and  forgiving. 
For  this  reason,  among  all  the  monstrous  characters  in  human 
nature,  there  is  none  so  odious,  nor  indeed  so  exquisitely  ridicu- 
lous, as  that  of  a  rigid  severe  temper  in  a  worthless  man. 

This  part  of  good-nature,  however,  which  consists  in  the  par- 
doning and  overlooking  of  faults,  is  to  be  exercised  only  in  doing 
ourselves  justice,  and  that  too  in  the  ordinary  commerce  and 
occurrences  of  life  ;  for  in  the  public  administration  of  justice, 
mercy  to  one  may  be  cruelty  to  others. 

It  is  grown  almost  into  a  maxim,  that  good-natured  men  are 
not  always  men  of  the  most  wit.  The  observation,  in  my  opinion, 
has  no  foundation  in  nature.  The  greatest  wits  I  have  conversed 
*  Cyropedia.  6.  viii.  ^  J)q  j^qH  Cat.  c.  64. 


'414  SPECTATOR.  [^o.  169 

with  are  men  eminent  for  their  humanity.  I  take,  therefore,  this 
remark  to  have  been  occasioned  by  two  reasons.  First,  because 
ill-nature  among  ordinary  observers  passes  for  wit.  A  spiteful 
saying  gratifies  so  many  little  passions  in  those  who  hear  it,  that 
it  generally  meets  with  a  good  reception.  The  laugh  rises  upon 
it,  and  the  man  who  utters  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  shrewd  satyrist. 
This  may  be  one  reason,  why  a  great  many  pleasant  companions 
appear  so  surprisingly  dull,  when  they  have  endeavoured  to  be 
merry  in  print ;  the  public  being  more  just  than  private  clubs  or 
assemblies,  in  distinguishing  between  what  is  wit  and  what  is  ill- 
nature. 

Another  reason  why  the  good-natured  man  may  sometimes 
bring  his  wit  in  question,  is  perhaps,  because  he  is  apt  to  be 
moved  with  compassion  for  those  misfortunes  and  infirmities, 
which  another  would  turn  into  ridicule,  and  by  that  means  gain 
the  reputation  of  a  wit.  The  ill-natured  man,  though  but  of 
equal  parts,  gives  himself  a  larger  field  to  expatiate  in,  he  exposes 
the  failings  in  human  nature  which  the  other  would  cast  a  veil 
over,  laughs  at  vices  which  the  other  either  excuses  or  conceals, 
gives  utterance  to  reflections  which  the  other  stifles,  falls  indifi'er- 
ently  upon  friends  or  enemies,  exposes  the  person  who  has  oblig- 
ed him,  and  in  short  sticks  at  nothing  that  may  establish  his 
character  as  a  wit.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  he  succeeds  in  it 
better  than  the  man  of  humanity,  as  a  person  who  makes  use 
of  indirect  methods  is  more  likely  to  grow  rich  than  the  fair 
trader.^  L. 

1  It  is  so  seldom,  we  find  a  false  principle  in  Addison  that  it  looks 
strangely.  If  he  had  stopped  to  think,  he  would  have  remembered  the 
old  proverb. — G. 


No,  110.] 


SPECTATOR. 


415 


No.  170.    FRIDAY,  SEPTEMBER  14. 

In  amore  haec  omnia  insunt  vitia :  injurijB, 
Suspiciones,  inimicitkB,  induciae, 

Bellum,  pax  rursum  

Ter.  Eun.  Act  1,  sc.  1. 

A.11  these  inconveniences  are  incident  to  love — reproaches,  jealousies,  (Quarrels, 
reconcilements,  war,  and  then  peace. 

Upon  looking  over  the  letters  of  my  female  correspondents,  I 
find  several  from  women  complaining  of  jealous  husbands,  and  at 
the  same  time  protesting  their  own  innocence ;  and  desiring  my 
advice  on  this  occasion.  I  shall  therefore  take  this  subject  into 
my  consideration ;  and  the  more  willingly,  because  I  find  that  the 
Marquis  of  Halifax,  who,  in  his  Advice  to  his  Daughter,  has  in- 
structed a  wife  how  to  behave  herself  towards  a  false,  an  intem- 
perate, a  choleric,  a  sullen,  a  covetous,  or  a  silly  husband,  has  not 
spoken  one  word  of  a  jealous  husband. 

^  Jealousy  is  that  pain  which  a  man  feels  from  the  apprehen- 
sion that  he  is  not  equally  beloved  by  the  person  whom  he  entire- 
ly loves.'  Now,  because  our  inward  passions  and  inclinations 
can  never  make  themselves  visible,  it  is  impossible  for  a  jealous 
man  to  be  thoroughly  cured  of  his  suspicions.  His  thoughts  hang 
at  best  in  a  state  of  doubtfulness  and  uncertainty;  and  are  never 
capable  of  receiving  any  satisfaction  on  the  advantageous  side ;  so 
that  his  inquiries  are  most  successful  when  they  discover  nothing  : 
his  pleasure  arises  from  his  disappointments,  and  his  life  is  spent 
in  pursuit  of  a  secret  that  destroys  his  happiness  if  he  chance  to 
find  it. 

An  ardent  love  is  always  a  strong  ingredient  in  this  passion ; 
for  the  same  affection  which  stirs  up  the  jealous  man's  desires, 
and  gives  the  party  beloved  so  beautiful  a  figure  in  his  imagina- 
tion, makes  him  believe  she  kindles  the  same  passion  in  others, 
and  appears  as  amiable  to  all  beholders.    And  as  jealousy  thus 


416 


SPECTATOR. 


LNo.  IIG 


arises  from  an  extraordinary  love,  it  is  of  so  delicate  a  nature^ 
that  it  scorns  to  take  up  with  any  thing  less  than  an  equal  return 
of  love.  Not  the  warmest  expressions  of  affection,  the  softest  and 
most  tender  hypocrisy,  are  able  to  give  any  satisfaction,  where  we 
are  not  persuaded  that  the  afiection  is  real  and  the  satisfaction 
mutual.  For  the  jealous  man  wishes  himself  a  kind  of  deity  to 
the  person  he  loves  :  he  would  be  the  only  pleasure  of  her  senses, 
the  employment  of  her  thoughts  ;  and  is  angry  at  every  thing 
she  admires,  or  takes  delight  in,  besides  himself. 

Phgedria's  request  to  his  mistress,  upon  his  leaving  her  for 
three  days,  is  inimitably  beautiful  and  natural. 

Cum  milite  isto  prsesens,  ahsens  iit  sies  : 

Dies,  noclesque  me  ames :  me  desideres : 

Me  somnies:  me  expectes.:  de  me  cogites  : 

Me  speres  :  me  te  oblectes  :  mecam  tota  sis  : 

Mens  fac  sis  postrerao  animus,  quando  ego  sum  tuus. 

Ter.  Eun.  Act  1,  sc.  2. 

The  jealous  man's  disease  is  of  so  malignant  a  nature,  that  it 
converts  all  he  takes  into  its  own  nourishment.  A  cool  behaviour 
sets  him  on  the  rack,  and  is  interpreted  as  an  instance  of  aversion 
or  indifference ;  a  fond  one  raises  his  suspicions,  and  looks  too 
much  like  dissimulation  and  artifice.  If  the  person  he  loves  be 
cheerful,  her  thoughts  must  be  employed  on  another  :  and  if  sad, 
she  is  certainly  thinking  on  himself.  In  short,  there  is  no  word 
or  gesture  so  insignificant,  but  it  gives  him  new  hints,  feeds  his 
suspicions,  and  furnishes  him  with  fresh  matters  of  discovery  :  so 
that  if  w^e  consider  the  effects  of  this  passion,  one  w^ould  rather 
think  it  proceeded  from  an  inveterate  hatred  than  an  excessive 
love ;  for  certainly  none  can  meet  with  more  disquietude  and  un- 
easiness than  a  suspected  wife,  if  we  except  the  jealous  husband. 

But  the  great  unhappiness  of  this  passion  is,  that  it  naturally 
ucnds  to  alienate  the  affection  which  it  is  so  solicitous  to  engross 


^^o.  170.] 


SPECTATOR. 


417 


and  that  for  these  two  reasons  ;  because  it  lays  too  great  a  con- 
straint on  the  words  and  actions  of  the  suspected  person,  and  at 
the  same  time  shews  you  have  no  honourable  opinion  of  her  ;  both 
of  which  are  strong  motives  to  aversion. 

Nor  is  this  the  worst  effect  of  jealousy ;  for  it  often  draws 
after  it  a  more  fatal  train  of  consequences,  and  makes  the  person 
you  suspect  guilty  of  the  very  crimes  you  are  so  much  afraid  of. 
It  is  very  natural  for  such  who  are  treated  ill,  and  upbraided 
falsely,  to  find  out  an  intimate  friend  that  will  hear  their  com- 
plaints, condole  their  sufierings,  and  endeavour  to  soothe  and 
assuage  their  secret  resentments.  Besides,  jealousy  puts  a  wo- 
man often  in  mind  of  an  ill  thing  that  she  would  not  otherwise 
perhaps  have  thought  of,  and  fills  her  imagination  with  such  an 
unlucky  idea,  as  in  time  grows  familiar,  excites  desire,  and  loses 
.  all  the  shame  and  horror  which  might  at  first  attend  it.  Nor  is 
it  a  wonder,  if  she  who  suffers  wrongfully  in  a  man's  opinion  of 
her,  and  has  therefore  nothing  to  forfeit  in  his  esteem,  resolves  to 
give  him  reason  for  his  suspicions,  and  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
the  crime,  since  she  must  undergo  the  ignominy.  Such  probably 
were  the  considerations  that  directed  the  wise  man  in  his  advice 
to  husbands  :  ^  Be  not  jealous  over  the  wife  of  thy  bosom,  and 
teach  her  not  an  evil  lesson  against  thyself  Ecclus.' 

And  here,  among  the  other  tornients  which  this  passion  pro- 
duces, we  may  usually  observe,  that  none  are  greater  mourners 
than  jealous  men,  when  the  person  who  provoked  their  jealousy  is 
taken  from  them.  Then  it  is  that  their  love  breaks  out  furiously, 
and  throws  off  all  the  mixtures  of  suspicion  which  choked  and 
smothered  it  before.  The  beautiful  parts  of  the  character  rise 
uppermost  in  the  jealous  husband's  memory,  and  upbraid  him 
with  the  ill  usage  of  so  divine  a  creature  as  was  once  in  his  pos- 
session ;  whilst  all  the  little  imperfections  that  were  before  so  un- 

VOL.    V. — 18* 


418 


SPECTATOR. 


fNo.  170 


easy  to  him,  wear  off  from  bis  remembrance,  and  shew  themselves 
no  more. 

We  may  see,  by  what  has  been  said,  that  jealousy  takes  the 
deepest  root  in  men  of  amorous  dispositions ;  and  of  these  we  find 
three  kinds  who  are  most  over-run  with  it. 

The  first  are  those  who  are  conscious  to  themselves  of  any 
infirmity,  whether  it  be  weakness,  old  age,  deformity,  ignorance, 
or  the  like.  These  men  are  so  well  acquainted  with  the  unamia- 
ble  part  of  themselves,  that  they  have  not  the  confidence  to  think 
they  are  really  beloved ;  and  are  so  distrustful  of  their  own  merits, 
that  all  fondness  towards  them  puts  them  out  of  countenance, 
and  looks  like  a  jest  upon  their  persons.  They  grow  suspicious 
on  their  first  looking  in  a  glass,  and  are  stung  with  jealousy  at 
the  sight  of  a  wrinkle.  A  handsome  fellow  immediately  alarms 
them,  and  every  thing  that  looks  young  or  gay  turns  their  thoughts 
upon  their  wives. 

A  second  sort  of  men,  who  are  most  liable  to  this  passion,  are 
those  of  cunning,  wary,  and  distrustful  tempers.  It  is  a  fault 
very  justly  found  in  histories  composed  by  politicians,  that  they 
leave  nothing  to  chance  or  humour,  but  are  still  for  deriving 
every  action  from  some  plot  or  contrivance,  from  drawing  up  a 
perpetual  scheme  of  causes  and  events,  and  preserving  a  constant 
correspondence  between  the  camp  and  the  council-table.  And 
thus  it  happens  in  the  affairs  of  love  with  men  of  too  refined  a 
thought.  They  put  a  construction  on  a  look,  and  find  out  a 
design  in  a  smile ;  they  give  new  senses  and  significations  to 
words  and  actions ;  and  are  ever  tormenting  themselves  with  fan- 
cies of  their  own  raising  :  they  generally  act  in  a  disguise  them- 
selves, and  therefore  mistake  all  outward  shows  and  appearances 
for  hypocrisy  in  others;  so  that  I  believe  no  men  see  less  of  the 
truth  and  reality  of  things,  than  these  great  refiners  upon  inci- 


No.  170.] 


SPECTATOR. 


419 


dents,  who  are  so  wonderfully  subtle  and  over-wise  in  their  con- 
ceptions. 

Now  what  the&e  men  fancy  they  know  of  women  by  reflection, 
your  lewd  and  vicious  men  believe  they  have  learned  by  expe- 
rience. They  have  seen  the  poor  husband  so  misled  by  tricks 
and  artifices,  and,  in  the  midst  of  his  inquiries,  so  lost  and  bewil- 
dered in  a  crooked  intrigue,  that  they  still  suspect  an  under  plot 
in  every  female  action ;  and  especially  where  they  see  any  resem- 
blance in  the  behaviour  of  two  persons,  are  apt  to  fancy  it  pro- 
ceeds from  the  same  design  in  both.  These  men,  therefore,  bear 
hard  upon  the  suspected  party,  pursue  her  close  through  all  her 
turnings  and  windings,  and  are  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
chace,  to  be  flung  off  by  any  false  steps  or  doubles  :  besides,  their 
acquaintance  and  conversation  has  lain  wholly  among  the  vicious 
part  of  womenkind,  and  therefore  it  is  no  wonder  they  censure  all 
alike,  and  look  upon  the  whole  sex  as  a  species  of  impostors. 
But  if,  notwithstanding  their  private  experience,  they  can  get  over 
these  prejudices,  and  entertain  a  favourable  opinion  of  some  wo- 
men, yet  their  own  loose  desires  will  stir  up  new  suspicions  from 
another  side,  and  make  them  believe  all  men  subject  to  the  same 
inclinations  with  themselves. 

Whether  these  or  other  motives  are  most  predominant,  we 
learn  from  the  modern  histories  of  America,  as  well  as  from  our 
own  experience  in  this  part  of  the  world,  that  jealousy  is  no 
northern  passion,  but  rages  most  in  those  nations  that  lie  nearest 
the  influence  of  the  sun.  It  is  a  misfortune  for  a  woman  to  be 
born  between  the  tropics ;  for  there  lie  the  hottest  regions  of 
jealousy,  which  as  you  come  northward  cools  all  along  with  the 
climate,  till  you  scarce  meet  any  thing  like  it  in  the  polar  circle. 
Our  own  nation  is  very  temperately  situated  in  this  respect ;  and 
if  we  meet  with  some  few  disordered  with  the  violence  of  this 
passion,  they  are  not  the  proper  growth  of  our  country,  but  are 


420 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  171 


many  degrees  nearer  the  sun  in  their  constitution  than  in  their 
climate. 

After  this  frightful  account  of  jealousy,  and  the  persons  who 
are  most  subject  to  it,  it  will  be  but  fair  to  shew  by  what  means 
the  passion  may  be  best  allayed,  and  those  who  are  possessed 
with  it  set  at  ease.  Other  faults,  indeed,  are  not  under  the  wife's 
jurisdiction,  and  should,  if  possible,  escape  her  observation ;  but 
jealousy  calls  upon  her  particularly  for  its  cure,  and  deserves  all 
her  art  and  application  in  the  attempt :  besides,  she  has  this  for 
her  encouragement,  that  her  endeavours  will  be  always  pleasing, 
and  that  she  will  still  find  the  affection  of  her  husband  rising 
towards  her  in  proportion  as  his  doubts  and  suspicions  vanish ; 
for,  as  we  have  seen  all  along,  there  is  so  great  a  mixture  of  love 
in  jealousy  as  is  well  worth  the  separating.  But  this  shall  be  the 
subject  of  another  paper. 


No.  171.    SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  15. 

Credula  res  amor  est  

Ovid.  Met.  vii.  826. 
The  man  who  loves  is  easy  of  belief. 

Having  in  my  yesterday's  paper  discovered  the  nature  of 
jealousy,  and  pointed  out  the  persons  who  are  most  subject  to  it, 
'   I  must  here  apply  myself  to  my  fair  correspondents,  who  desire 
to  live  well  with  a  jealous  husband,  and  to  ease  his  mind  of  its 
unjust  suspicions.^ 

^  The  following  advertisement  refers  to  this  and  the  preceding  paper  on 
jealousy: — "I  William  Cragy,  aged  threescore  and  seven,  having  for  se- 
veral years  been  afflicted  with  uneas}'  doubts,  fears  and  vapours,  occasion- 
ed by  the  youth  and  beauty  of  Mary  my  wife,  aged  twent3^-five,  do  hereby, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  public,  give  notice  that  I  have  found  great  relief  from 


No.  171  ] 


SPECTATOR 


421 


The  first  rule  I  shall  propose  to  be  observed  is,  that  you 
never  seem  to  dislike  in  another  what  the  jealous  man  is  himself 
guilty  of,  or  to  admire  any  thing  in  which  he  himself  does  not 
excel.  A  -  jealous  man  is  very  quick  in  his  applications,  he 
knows  how  to  find  a  double  edge  in  an  invective,  and  to  draw  a 
satire  on  himself  out  of  a  panegyric  on  another.  He  does  not 
trouble  himself  to  consider  the  person,  but  to  direct  the  charac- 
ter ;  and  is  secretly  pleased  or  confounded  as  he  finds  more  or 
less  of  himself  in  it.  The  commendation  of  any  thing  in  another 
stirs  up  his  jealousy,  as  it  shews  you  have  a  value  for  others  be- 
sides himself ;  but  the  commendation  of  that  which  he  himself 
wants,  inflames  him  more,  as  it  shews  that  in  some  respects  you 
prefer  others  before  him.  Jealousy  is  admirably  described  in 
this  view  by  Horace  in  his  Ode  to  Lydia. 

Quum  tu,  Lydia,  Telephi 

Cervicem  roseam,  et  cerea  Telephi 
Laudas  brachia,  vse  meum 

Fervons  difficili  bile  tumet  jecur : 
Tunc  iiec  mens  milii,  nec  color 

Certa  sede  manet;  humor  et  in  genas 
Furtim  labitur  arguens 

Quto  lentis  penitus  macerer  ignibus. 

1.  Od.  xiii.  1. 

When  Telephus  his  youthful  charms, 
His  rosy  neck  and  winding  arms, 
With  endless  rapture  you  recite, 
And  in  that  pleasing  name  delight ; 
My  heart,  inflam'd  by  jealous  heats, 
With  numberless  resentments  beats : 
From  my  pale  cheek  the  colour  flies, 
And  all  the  man  within  me  dies : 
*  By  turns  my  hidden  grief  appears 

In  rising  sighs  and  falling  tears, 

two  doses,  having  taken  them  two  mornings  together  with  a  dish  of  cLoco-' 
late.    Witness  my  hand,  <fec.    Spect.,  No.  547.    See  also  No.  178. — 0. 


422 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  O  R 


[No.  171 


That  shew  too  Avell  the  warm  desires, 
The  silent,  slow,  consnraing  fires. 
Which  on  my  inmost  vitals  pre}^, 
And  melt  my  very  soul  away. 

The  jealous  man  is  not  indeed  angry  if  you  dislike  another ; 
but  if  you  find  those  faults  which  are  to  be  found  in  his  own 
character,  you  discover  not  only  your  dislike  of  another,  but  of 
himself  In  short,  he  is  so  desirous  of  engrossing  all  your  love, 
that  he  is  grieved  at  the  want  of  any  charm,  which  he  believes 
has  power  to  raise  it ;  and  if  he  finds,  by  your  censures  on  others, 
that  he  is  not  so  agreeable  in  your  opinion  as  he  might  be,  he 
naturally  concludes  you  could  love  him  better  if  he  had  other 
qualifications,  and  that  by  consequence  your  affection  does  not 
rise  so  high  as  he  thinks  it  ought  If,  therefore,  his  temper  be 
grave  or  sullen,  you  must  not  be  too  much  pleased  with  a  jest,  or 
transported  with  any  thing  that  is  gay  and  diverting.  If  his 
beauty  be  none  of  the  best,  you  must  be  a  professed  admirer  of 
prudence,  or  any  other  quality  he  is  master  of,  or  at  least  vain 
enough  to  think  he  is. 

In  the  next  place,  you  must  be  sure  to  be  free  and  open  in 
your  conversation  with  him,  and  to  let  in  light  upon  your  actions, 
to  unravel  all  your  designs,  and  discover  every  secret,  however 
trifling  or  indifferent.  A  jealous  husband  has  a  particular  aver- 
sion to  winks  and  whispers,  and  if  he  does  not  see  to  the  bottom 
of  every  thing,  will  be  sure  to  go  beyond  it  in  his  fears  and  sus- 
picions. He  will  always  expect  to  be  your  chief  confident,  and 
where  he  finds  himself  kept  out  of  a  secret,  will  believe  there  is 
more  in  it  than  there  should  be.  And  here  it  is  of  great  con- 
cern, that  you  preserve  the  character  of  your  sincerity  uniform 
and  of  a  piece ;  for  if  he  once  finds  a  false  gloss  put  upon  any 
single  action,  he  quickly  suspects  all  the  rest ;  his  working  ima- 
gination immediately  takes  a  false  hint,  and  runs  on  with  it  into 


No.  171. J 


SPECTATOR. 


423 


several  remote  consequences,  'till  he  has  proved  very  ingenious 
in  working  out  his  own  misery. 

If  both  these  methods  fail,  the  best  way  will  be  to  let  him 
see  you  are  much  cast  down  and  afflicted  for  the  ill  opinion  he 
entertains  of  you,  and  the  disquietudes  he  himself  suflfers  for 
your  sake.  There  are  many  who  take  a  kind  of  barbarous 
pleasure  in  the  jealousy  Of  those  who  love  them,  that  insult  over 
an  aking  heart,  and  triumph  in  their  charms  which  are  able  to 
excite  so  much  uneasiness. 

Ardeat  ipsa  licet,  torraentis  gaudet  amantis. 

Juv.    Sat.  vi.  208. 

*  Tho'  equal  pains  her  peaceful  mind  destroy, 
A  lover's  torments  give  her  spiteful  joy.' 

But  these  often  carry  the  humour  so  far,  'till  their  affected  cold- 
ness and  indifference  quite  kills  all  the  fondness  of  a  lover,  and 
are  then  sure  to  meet  in  their  turn  with  all  the  contempt  and 
scorn  that  is  due  to  so  insolent  a  behaviour.  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  very  probable,  a  melancholy,  dejected  carriage,  the  usual 
effects  of  injured  innocence,  may  soften  the  jealous  husband  into 
pity,  make  him  sensible  of  the  wrong  he  does  you,  and  work  out 
of  his  mind  all  those  fears  and  suspicions  that  make  you  both 
unhappy.  At  least  it  will  have  this  good  effect,  that  he  will 
keep  his  jealousy  to  himself,  and  repine  in  private,  either  because 
he  is  sensible  it  is  a  weakness,  and  will  therefore  hide  it  from 
your  knowledge,  or  because  he  will  be  apt  to  fear  some  ill  effects 
it  may  produce,  in  cooling  your  love  towards  him,  or  diverting  it 
to  another. 

There  is  still  another  secret  that  can  never  fail,  if  you  can 
once  get  it  believed,  and  which  is  often  practised  by  women  of 
greater  cunning  than  virtue  :  this  is,  to  change  sides  for  a  while 
with  the  jealous  man,  and  to  turn  his  own  passion  upon  himself; 


424 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  171. 


to  take  some  occasion  of  growing  jealous  of  him,  and  to  follow 
the  example  he  himself  hath  set  you.  This  counterfeited  jeal- 
ousy will  bring  him  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  if  he  thinks  it  real ; 
for  he  known  experimentally  how  much  love  goes  along  with  this 
passion,  and  will  besides  feel  something  like  the  satisfaction  of  a 
revenge,  in  seeing  you  undergo  all  his  own  tortures.  But  this, 
indeed,  is  an  artifice  so  difficult,  and  at»  the  same  time  so  disin- 
genuous, that  it  ought  never  to  be  put  in  practice,  but  by  such 
as  have  skill  enough  to  cover  the  deceit,  and  innocence  to  render 
it  excusable. 

I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  the  story  of  Herod  and  Ma- 
riamne,  as  I  have  collected  it  out  of  Josephus,  which  may  serve 
almost  as  an  example  to  whatever  can  be  said  on  this  subject.  ^ 

Mariamne  had  all  the  charms  that  beauty,  birth,  wit,  and 
youth,  could  give  a  woman ;  and  Herod  all  the  love  that  such 
charms  are  able  to  raise  in  a  warm  and  amorous  disposition.  In 
the  midst  of  this  his  fondness  for  Mariamne,  he  put  her  brother 
to  death,  as  he  did  her  father  not  many  years  after.  The  bar- 
barity of  the  action  was  represented  to  Mark  Antony,  who  imme- 
diately summoned  Herod  into  Egypt,  to  answer  for  the  crime 
that  was  there  laid  to  his  charge.  Herod  attributed  the  sum- 
mons to  Antony's  desire  of  Mariamne,  whom  therefore,  before 
his  departure,  he  gave  into  the  custody  of  his  uncle  Joseph,  with 
private  orders  to  put  her  to  death,  if  any  such  violence  was 
offered  to  himself.  This  Joseph  was  much  delighted  with  Mari- 
amne's  conversation,  and  endeavoured  with  all  his  art  and  rhet- 
oric to  set  out  the  excess  of  Herod's  passion  for  her  ;  but  when 
he  still  found  her  cold  and  incredulous,  he  inconsiderately  told 
her,  as  a  certain  instance  of  her  lord's  affection,  the  private  orders 
he  had  left  behind  him,  which  plainly  shewed,  according  to 

^Antiquities  of  the  Jews,  6,  xv.  ch.  3.  sec.  5,  6,  9.  chap.  7.  see.  1,  2, 
Ac— a 


No.  171.] 


SPECTATOR. 


425 


Joseph's  interpretation,  that  he  could  neither  live  nor  die  with- 
out her.  This  barbarous  instance  of  a  wild  unreasonable  passion, 
quite  put  out,  for  a  time,  those  little  remains  of  affection  she 
still  had  for  her  lord  :  for  now  her  thoughts  were  so  wholly  taken 
up  with  the  cruelty  of  his  orders,  that  she  could  not  consider  the 
kindness  that  produced  them,  and  therefore  represented  him  in 
her  imagination,  rather  under  the  frightful  idea  of  a  murderer 
than  a  lover.  Herod  was  at  length  acquitted,  and  dismissed  by 
Mark  Antony,  when  his  soul  was  all  in  flames  for  his  Mariamne  ; 
but  before  their  meeting,  he  was  not  a  little  alarmed  at  the  re- 
port he  had  heard  of  his  uncle's  conversation  and  familiarity  with 
her  in  his  absence.  This,  therefore,  was  the  first  discourse  he  en- 
tertained her  with,  in  which  she  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  quiet 
his  suspicions.  But  at  last  he  appeared  so  well  satisfied  of  her 
innocence,  that,  from  reproaches  and  wranglings,  he  fell  to  tears 
and  embraces.  Both  of  them  wept  very  tenderly  at  their  recon- 
ciliation, and  Herod  poured  out  his  whole  soul  to  her  in  the 
warmest  protestations  of  love  and  constancy;  when,  amidst  all 
his  sighs  and  languishings,  she  asked  him,  whether  the  private 
orders  he  left  with  his  uncle  Joseph  were  an  instance  of  such  an 
inflamed  affection.  The  jealous  king  was  immediately  roused 
at  so  unexpected  a  question,  and  concluded  his  uncle  must  have 
been  too  familiar  with  her,  before  he  would  have  discovered  such 
a  secret.  In  short,  he  put  his  uncle  to  death,  and  very  difficult- 
ly prevailed  upon  himself  to  spare  Mariamne. 

After  this  he  was  forced  on  a  second  journey  into  Egypt, 
when  he  committed  his  lady  to  the  care  of  Sohemus,  with  the 
same  private  orders  he  had  before  given  his  uncle,  if  any  mis- 
chief befel  himself  In  the  mean  while  Mariamne  so  won  upon 
Sohemus  by  her  presents  and  obliging  conversation,  that  she 
drew  all  the  secret  from  him,  with  which  Herod  had  intrusted 
him  ;  so  that  after  his  return,  when  he  flew  to  her  with  all  the 


426 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  171 


transports  of  joy  and  love,  ske  received  him  coldly  with  sighs  and 
tears,  and  all  the  marks  of  indifference  and  aversion.  This  re- 
ception so  stirred  up  his  indignation,  that  he  had  certainly  slain 
her  with  his  own  hands,  had  not  he  feared  he  himself  should  have 
become  the  greater  sufferer  by  it.  It  was  not  long  after  this, 
when  he  had  another  violent  return  of  love  upon  him  :  Mariamne 
was  therefore  sent  for  to  him,  whom  he  endeavoured  to  soften 
and  reconcile  with  all  possible  conjugal  caresses  and  endearments ; 
but  she  declined  his  embraces,  and  answered  all  his  fondness  with 
bitter  invectives  for  the  death  of  her  father  and  her  brother. 
This  behaviour  so  incensed  Herod,  that  he  very  hardly  refrained 
from  striking  her ;  when,  in  the  heat  of  their  quarrel,  there  came 
•in  a  witness,  suborned  by  some  of  Mariamne's  enemies,  who  ac- 
cused her  to  the  king  of  a  design  to  poison  him.  Herod  was  now 
prepared  to  hear  any  thing  in  her  prejudice,  and  immediately 
ordered  her  servant  to  be  stretched  upon  the  rack  ;  who,  in  the 
extremity  of  his  tortures,  confest,  that  his  mistress's  aversion  to 
the  king  arose  from  something  Sohemus  had  told  her ;  but  as  for 
any  design  of  poisoning,  he  utterly  disowned  the  least  knowledge 
of  it.  This  confession  quickly  proved  fatal  to  Sohemus,  who  now 
lay  under  the  same  suspicions  and  sentence  that  Joseph  had 
before  him  on  the  like  occasion.  Nor  would  Herod  rest  here, 
but  accused  her  with  great  vehemence,  of  a  design  upon  his  life, 
and  by  his  authority  with  the  judges,  had  her  publicly  condemn- 
ed and  executed.  Herod  soon  after  her  death  grew  melancholy 
and  dejected,  retiring  from  the  public  administration  of  affairs 
into  a  solitary  forest,  and  there  abandoning  himself  to  all  the 
black  considerations  which  naturally  arise  from  a  passion  made 
up  of  love,  remorse,  pity,  and  despair.  He  used  to  rave  for  his 
Mariamne,  and  to  call  upon  her  in  his  distracted  fits  ;  and  in  all 
probability  would  soon  have  followed  her,  had  not  his  thoughts 
been  seasonably  called  oft'  from  so  sad  an  object  by  public  storms, 
which  at  that  time  very  nearly  threatened  him.  L. 


Vo.  173.] 


SPECTATOR. 


427 


No.  173.    TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  18. 

 Eemove  fora  monstra,  tuaeque 

Saxificos  vultus,  quaecunquo  ea,  tolle  Medusae. 

Ovid.  Met.  v.  216. 

Remove  that  horrid  monster,  and  take  honco 
Medusa's  petrifying  countenance. 

In  a  late  paper  I  mentioned  the  project  of  an  ingenious  author 
for  the  erecting  of  several  handicraft  prizes  to  be  contended  for 
by  our  British  artizans,  and  the  influence  they  might  have  towards 
the  improvement  of  our  several  manufactures.  I  have  since  that 
been  very  much  surprised  by  the  following  advertisement  which  I 
find  in  the  Post-Boy  of  the  11th  instant,  and  again  repeated  in 
the  Post-Boy  of  the  15th. 

"  On  the  9th  of  October  next  will  be  run  for  upon  Coleshill- 
Heath,  in  Warwickshire,  a  plate  of  six  guineas  value,  3  heats,  by 
any  horse,  mare,  or  gelding,  that  hath  not  won  above  the  value 
of  51.  the  winning  horse  to  be  sold  for  101.  to  carry  10  stone 
weight,  if  14  hands  high  ;  if  above  or  under,  to  carry  or  be  allow- 
ed weight  for  inches,  and  to  be  entered  Friday  the  15th  at  the 
Swan  in  the  Coleshill,  before  6  in  the  evening.  Also  a  plate  of 
less  value  to  be  run  for  by  asses.  The  same  day  a  gold  ring  to 
be  grinned  for  by  men."  ^ 

The  first  of  these  diversions  that  is  to  be  exhibited  by  the 
101.  race-horses,  may  probably  have  its  use  ;  but  the  two  last,  in 
which  the  as*ses  and  men  are  concerned,  seem  to  me  altogether 
extraordinary  and  unaccountable.  Why  they  should  keep  run- 
ning asses  at  Coleshill,  or  how  making  mouths  turns  to  account 

*  This  is  the  first  of  the  papers  mentioned  as  a  cure  for  the  hypochon- 
driac melancholy;  the  others  are  Nos.  184,  191,  203,  209,  221,  223,  235, 
239,  245,  247,  and  251.    See  Spect.  No.  547.--C. 


m 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  173 


in  Warwickshire,  more  than  in  any  other  parts  of  England,  I 
cannot  comprehend.  I  have  looked  over  all  the  Olympic  games, 
and  do  not  find  any  thing  in  them  like  an  ass-race,  or  a  match  at 
grinning.  However  it  be,  I  am  informed,  that  several  asses  are 
now  kept  in  body-clothes,  and  sweated  every  morning  upon  the 
heath  ;  and  that  all  the  country-fellows  within  ten  miles  of  the 
Swan  grin  an  hour  or  two  in  their  glasses  every  morning,  in  order 
to  qualify  themselves  for  the  9th  of  October.  The  prize  which  is 
proposed  to  be  grinned  for,  has  raised  such  an  ambition  among 
the  common  people  of  out-grinning  one  another,  that  many  very 
discerning  persons  are  afraid  it  should  spoil  most  of  the  faces  in 
the  county ;  and  that  a  Warwickshire  man  will  be  known  by  his 
grin,  as  Roman  Catholics  imagine  a  Kentish  man  is  by  his  tail. 
The  gold  ring  w^hich  is  made  the  prize  of  deformity,  is  just  the 
reverse  of  the  golden  apple  that  was  formerly  made  the  prize  of 
beauty,  and  should  carry  for  its  poise  the  old  motto  inverted, 

Detur  tetriori. 

Or  to  accommodate  it  to  the  capacity  of  the  combatants. 

The  frightfuU'st  grinner, 
Be  the  winner. 

In  the  mean  while  I  would  advise  a  Dutch  painter  to  be  pre- 
sent at  this  great  controversy  of  faces,  in  order  to  make  a  collec- 
tion of  the  most  remarkable  grins  that  shall  be  there  exhibited. 

I  must  not  here  omit  an  account  which  I  lately  received  of 
one  of  these  grinning  matches  from  a  gentleman,  who  upon  read- 
ing the  above-mentioned  advertisement,  entertained  a  coffee-house 
with  the  following  narrative.  Upon  the  taking  of  Namur,^  among 
other  public  rejoicings  made  on  that  occasion,  there  was  a  gold 
ring  given  by  a  Whig  justice  of  the  peace  to  be  grinned  for.  The 

^  V.  vol.  i,  pp.  150  and  153.  Notes.— G. 


No.  173.] 


SPECTATOR. 


429 


first  competitor  that  entered  the  lists,  was  a  black  swarthy 
Frenchman,  who  accidentally  passed  that  way,  and  being  a  man 
naturally  of  a  withered  look,  and  hard  features,  promised  himself 
good  success.  He  was  placed  upon  a  table  in  the  great  point  of 
view,  and  looking  upon  the  company  like  Milton's  death, 

.  Grinn'd  horribly  a  ghastly  smile.  — 

His  muscles  were  so  drawn  together  on  each  side  of  his  face 
that  he  shewed  twenty  teeth  at  a  grin,  and  put  the  country  in 
some  pain,  lest  the  foreigner  should  carry  away  the  honour  of  the 
day ;  but  upon  a  further  trial  they  found  he  was  master  only  of 
the  merry  grin. 

The  next  that  mounted  the  table  was  a  Malecontent  in  those 
days,  and  a  great  master  of  the  whole  art  of  grinning,  but  parti- 
cularly excelled  in  the  angry  grin.  He  did  his  part  so  well,  that 
he  is  said  to  have  made  half  a  dozen  women  miscarry ;  but  the 
justice  being  apprized  by  one  who  stood  near  him,  that  the  fellow 
who  grinned  in  his  face  was  a  Jacobite,  and  being  unwilling  that 
a  disafi'ected  person  should  win  the  gold  ring,  and  be  looked  upon 
as  the  best  grinner  in  the  country,  he  ordered  the  oaths  to  be 
tendered  unto  him  upon  his  quitting  the  table,  which  the  grinner 
refusing,  he  was  set  aside  as  an  unqualified  person.  There  were 
several  other  grotesque  figures  that  presented  themselves,  which 
it  would  be  too  tedious  to  describe.  I  must  not,  however,  omit 
a  plough  man,  wlio  lived  in  the  further  part  of  the  country,  and 
being  very  lucky  in  a  pair  of  long  lanthorn-jaws,  wrung  his  face 
into  such  a  hideous  grimace,  that  every  feature  of  it  appeared 
under  a  different  distortion.  The  whole  company  stood  astonish- 
ed at  such  a  complicated  grin,  and  were  ready  to  assign  the 
prize  to  him,  had  it  not  been  proved  by  one  of  his  antagonists  that 
he  had  practised  with  verjuice  for  some  days  before,  and  had  a 


430 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  173. 


crab  found  upon  hiin  at  the  very  time  of  grinning  ;  upon  which 
the  best  judges  of  grinning  declared  it  as  their  opinion  that  he 
was  not  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  fair  grinner,  and  therefore  order- 
ed him  to  be  set  aside  as  a  cheat. 

The  prize,  it  seems,  fell  at  length  upon  a  cobler,  Giles  Gorgon 
by  name,  who  produced  several  new  grins  of  his  own  invention, 
having  been  used  to  cut  faces  for  many  years  together  over  his 
last.  At  the  very  first  grin  he  cast  every  human  feature  out  of 
his  countenance,  at  the  second  he  became  the  face  of  a  spout,  at 
the  third  a  baboon,  at  the  fourth  the  head  of  a  bass-viol,  and  at 
the  fifth  a  pair  of  nut-crackers.  The  whole  assembly  wondered 
at  his  accomplishments,  and  bestowed  the  ring  on  him  unanimous- 
ly ;  but,  what  he  esteemed  more  than  all  the  rest,  a  country  wench 
whom  he  had  wooed  in  vain  for  above  five  years  before,  was  so 
charmed  with  his  grins,  and  the  applauses  which  he  received  on 
all  sides,  that  she  married  him  the  week  following,  and  to  this  day 
wears  the  prize  upon  her  finger,  the  cobler  having  made  use  of  it 
as  his  wedding-ring. 

This  paper  might  perhaps  seem  very  impertinent,  if  it  grew 
serious  in  the  conclusion.  I  would  nevertheless  leave  it  to  the 
consideration  of  those  who  are  the  patrons  of  this  monstrous  trial 
of  skill,  whether  or  no  they  are  not  guilty,  in «  some  measure,  of 
an  afi'ront  to  their  species,  in  treating  after  this  manner  the  Hu- 
man Face  Divine,  and  turning  that  part  of  us,  which  has  so  great 
an  image  impressed  upon  it,  into  the  image  of  a  monkey  ;  whether 
the  raising  such  silly  competitions  among  the  ignorant,  proposing 
prizes  for  such  useless  accomplishments,  filling  the  common  peo- 
ple's heads  with  such  senseless  ambitions,  and  inspiring  them  w^ith 
such  absurd  ideas  of  superiority  and  pre-eminence,  has  not  in  it 
something  immoral  as  well  as  ridiculous.'  L. 

*  This  paper  produced  so  good  an  effect  that  the  ^grinning  match*  was 
given  up  and  the  'Spectator'  applied  to  b}-  letter  to  point  out  the  proper 


No.  177.1 


SPECTATOR. 


431 


No.  177.    SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  22. 

.  Quis  enim  bonus,  aut  face  digrius 

Arcana,  qualem  Gereris  vult  esse  sacerdos, 

UUa  alicna  sibi  crcdut  mala?   ! 

Juv.  Sat  XV.  140.  I 
Who  can  all  sense  of  others'  ills  escape, 
Is  but  a  brute,  at  best,  in  human  shape. 

Tate. 

In  one  of  my  last  week's  papers  ^  I  treated  of  good-nature,  as 
it  is  the  effect  of  constitution ;  I  shall  now  speak  of  it  as  it  is  a 
moral  virtue.  The  first  may  make  a  man  easy  in  himself,  and 
agreeable  to  others,  but  implies  no  merit  in  him  that  is  possessed 
of  it.  A  man  is  no  more  to  be  praised  upon  this  account,  than 
because  he  has  a  regular  pulse  or  a  good  digestion.  This  good- 
nature, however,  in  the  constitution,  which  Mr.  Dryden  somewhere 
calls  a  milkiness  of  blood,  is  an  admirable  ground-work  for  the 
other.  In  order,  therefore,  to  try  our  good-nature,  whether  it 
arises  from  the  body  or  the  mind,  whether  it  be  founded  in  the 
animal  or  rational  part  of  our  nature,  in  a  word,  whether  it  be 
such  as  is  entitled  to  any  other  reward,  besides  that  secret  satis- 
faction, and  contentment  of  mind,  which  is  essential  to  it,  and  the 
kind  reception  it  procures  us  in  the  world,  we  must  examine  it  by 
the  following  rules. 

First,  whether  it  acts  with  steadiness  and  uniformity  in  sick- 
ness and  in  health,  in  prosperity  and  in  adversity  :  if  otherwise, 
it  is  to  be  looked  upon  as  nothing  else  but  an  irradiation  -of  the 
mind  from  some  new  supply  of  spirits,  or  a  more  kindly  circula- 
tion of  the  blood.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  mentions  a  cunning  solici- 
tor, who  would  never  ask  a  favour  of  a  great  man  before  dinner ; 

way  of  disposing  of  the  prize.   V.  *  Original  Letters  to  the  Spectator/  voL 
IL  letter  from  Coleshill. — G. 
»  V.  No.  169.— C. 


432 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  177. 


but  took  care  to  prefer  his  petition  at  a  time  when  the  party 
petitioned  had  his  mind  free  from  care,  and  his  appetites  in  good 
humour.  Such  a  transient  temporary  good-nature  as  this,  is  not 
that  philanthropy,  that  love  of  mankind,  which  deserves  the  title 
of  a  moral  virtue. 

The  next  way  of  a  man^s  bringing  his  good-nature  to  the  test, 
is,  to  consider  whether  it  operates  according  to  the  rules  of  reason 
and  duty  :  for  if,  notwithstanding  its  general  benevolence  to 
mankind,  it  makes  no  distinction  between  its  objects,  if  it  exerts 
itself  promiscuously  towards  the  deserving  and  the  undeserving, 
if  it  relieves  alike  the  idle  and  the  indigent,  if  it  gives  itself  up  to 
the  first  petitioner,  and  lights  upon  any  one  rather  by  accident 
than  choice,  it  may  pass  for  an  amiable  instinct,  but  must  not 
assume  the  name  of  a  moral  virtue. 

The  third  trial  of  good-nature  will  be  the  examining  ourselves, 
whether  or  no  we  are  able  to  exert  it  to  our  own  disadvantage, 
and  employ  it  on  proper  objects,  notwithstanding  any  little  pain, 
want,  or  inconvenience  which  may  arise  to  ourselves  from  it :  in 
a  word,  whether  we  are  willing  to  risk  any  part  of  our  fortune,  or 
reputation,  our  health  or  ease,  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  Among 
all  these  expressions  of  good-nature,  I  shall  single  out  that  which 
goes  under  the  general  name  of  charity,  as  it  consists  in  relieving 
the  indigent ;  that  being  a  trial  of  this  kind  which  oflfers  itself  to 
us  almost  at  all  times  and  in  every  place. 

I  should  propose  it  as  a  rule  to  every  one,  who  is  provided 
with  an^  competency  of  fortune  more  than  sufficient  for  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life,  to  lay  aside  a  certain  proportion  of  his  income 
for  the  use  of  the  poor.  This  I  would  look  upon  as  an  offering 
to  him  who  has  a  right  to  the  whole,  for  the  use  of  those  whom, 
in  the  passage  hereafter  mentioned,  he  has  described  as  his  own 
representatives  upon  earth.  At  the  same  time  we  should  manage 
our  charity  with  such  prudence  and  caution,  that  we  may  not  hurt 


No.  177.] 


SPECTATOR. 


433 


our  own  friends  or  relations  whilst  we  are  doing  good  to  those 
who  are  strangers  to  us. 

This  may  possibly  be  explained  better  by  an  example  than  by 
a  rule. 

Eugenius  is  a  man  of  universal  good-nature,  and  generous 
beyond  the  extent  of  his  fortune ;  but  withal  so  prudent  in  the 
ceconomy  of  his  affairs,  that  what  goes  out  in  charity  is  made  up 
by  good  management.  Eugenius  has  what  the  world  calls  two 
hundred  pounds  a  year  ;  but  never  values  himself  above  ninescore, 
as  not  thinking  he  has  a  right  to  the  tenth  part,  which  he  always 
appropriates  to  charitable  uses.  To  this  sum  he.  frequently  makes 
other  voluntary  additions,  insomuch  that  in  a  good  year,  for  such 
he  accounts  those  in  which  he  has  been  able  to  make  greater 
bounties  than  ordinary,  he  has  given  above  twice  the  sum  to  the 
sickly  and  indigent.  Eugenius  prescribes  to  himself  many  parti- 
cular days  of  fasting  and  abstinence,  in  order  to  increase  his  pri- 
vate bank  of  charity,  and  sets  aside  what  would  be  the  current 
expences  of  those  times  for  the  poor.  He  often  goes  afoot  where 
his  business  calls  him,  and  at  the  end  of  his  walk  has  given  a 
shilling,  which  in  his  ordinary  methods  of  expence  would  have 
gone  for  coach-hire,  to  the  first  necessitous  person  that  has  fallen 
in  his  way.  I  have  known  him,  when  he  has  been  going  to  a  play 
or  an  opera,  divert  the  money  which  was  designed  for  that  pur- 
pose, upon  an  object  of  charity  whom  he  has  met  with  in  the 
street ;  and  afterwards  pass  his  evening  in  a  coffee-house,  or  at  a 
friend's  fireside,  with  much  greater  satisfaction  to  himself  than  he 
could  have  received  from  the  most  exquisite  entertainments  of 
the  theatre.  By  these  means  he  is  generous  without  impoverish- 
ing himself,  and  enjoys  his  estate  by  making  it  the  property  of 
others. 

There  are  few  men  so  cramped  in  their  private  affairs,  who 
may  not  be  charitable  after  this  manner,  without  any  disadvantage 

VOL.    V. — 19 


434 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  Ill 


to  themselves,  or  prejudice  to  their  families.  It  is  but  sometimes 
sacrificing  a  diversion  or  convenience  to  the  poor,  and  turning 
the  usual  course  of  our  expences  into  a  better  channel.  This  is, 
I  think,  not  only  the  most  prudent  and  convenient,  but  the  most 
meritorious  piece  of  charity,  which  we  can  put  in  practice.  By 
this  method  we  in  some  measure  share  the  necessities  of  the  poor 
at  the  same  time  that  we  relieve  them,  and  make  ourselves  not 
only  their  patrons,  but  their  fellow-sufferers. 

Sir  Thomas  Brown,  in  the  last  part  of  his  Religio  Medici,  in 
wTiich  he  describes  his  charity  in  several  heroic  instances,  and 
with  a  noble  heat  of  sentiments  mentions  that  verse  in  the  Pro- 
verbs of  Solomon,  ^  He  that  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the 
Lord  : '  ^'  There  is  more  rhetoric  in  that  one  sentence,"  says  he, 
than  in  a  library  of  sermons ;  and  indeed  if  those  sentences  were 
understood  by  the  reader  with  the  same  emphasis  as  they  are  de- 
livered by  the  author,  we  needed  not  those  volumes  of  instructions, 
but  might  be  honest  by  an  epitome."  ^ 

This  passage  of  scripture  is  indeed  wonderfully  persuasive ; 
but  I  think  the  same  thought  is  carried  much  further  in  the  New 
Testament,  where  our  Saviour  tells  us  in  a  most  pathetic  manner, 
that  he  shall  hereafter  regard  the  cloathing  of  the  naked,  the 
feeding  of  the  hungry,  and  the  visiting  of  the  imprisoned,  as  offi- 
ces done  to  himself,  and  reward  them  accordingly.  Pursuant  to 
those  passages  in  the  holy  scripture,  I  have  somewhere  met  with 
the  epitaph  of  a  charitable  man,  which  has  very  much  pleased 
me.  I  cannot  recollect  the  words,  but  the  sense  of  it  is  to  this 
purpose  :  '  What  I  spent  I  lost ;  what  I  possessed  is  left  to  oth- 
ers ;  what  I  gave  away  remains  with  me.'^ 

^  Brown's  Rel.  Med.,  part.  II,  sect.  13,  f.  1659,  p.  29.— C. 
2  The  epitaph  alluded  to  is  (or  was)  in  St.  George's  church  at  DDncas- 
ter,  in  Yorkshire,  and  runs  in  old  English  thus : 
How  now,  who  is  heare  ? 
I  Eobin  of  Doncastere 


No.  111.] 


SPECTATOR. 


435 


Since  I  am  thus  insensibly  engaged  in  sacred  writ,  I  cannot 
forbear  making  an  extract  of  several  passages  which  I  have  al- 
ways read  with  great  delight  in  the  book  of  Job.  It  is  the  ac- 
count which  that  holy  man  gives  of  his  behaviour  in  the  days  of 
his  prosperity,  and  if  considered  only  as  a  human  composition,  is 
a  finer  picture  of  a  charitable  and  good-natured  man  than  is  to  be 
met  with  in  any  other  author. 

^  0  that  I  were  as  in  months  past,  as  in  the  days  when  God 
preserved  me  :  when  his  candle  shined  upon  my  head,  and  when 
by  his  light  I  walked  through  darkness  :  when  the  Almighty  was 
yet  with  me  :  when  my  children  were  about  me  :  when  I  washed 
my  steps  with  butter,  and  the  rock  poured  out  rivers  of  oil. 

'  When  the  ear  heard  me,  then  it  blessed  me  ;  and  when  the 
eye  saw  me  it  gave  witness  to  me.  Because  I  delivered  the  poor 
that  cried,  and  the  fatherless,  and  him  that  had  none  to  help 
him.  The  blessing  of  him  that  was  ready  to  perish  came  upon 
me,  and  I  caused  the  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy.  I  was 
eyes  to  the  blind,  and  feet  was  I  to  the  lame ;  I  was  a  father  to 
the  poor,  and  the  cause  which  I  knew  not,  I  searched  out.  Did 
I  not  weep  for  him  that  was  in  trouble,  was  not  my  soul  grieved 
for  the  poor  ?  Let  me  be  weighed  in  an  even  balance,  that  God 
may  know  mine  integrity.  If  I  did  despise  the  cause  of  my 
man-servant  or  of  my  maid-servant  when  they  contended  with 
me :  what  then  shall  I  do  when  God  riseth  up  ?  and  when  he 
visiteth,  what  shall  I  answer  him  ?    Did  not  he  that  made  me  in 

And  Margaret  my  feare. 
That  I  spent,  that  I  had : 
That  I  gave,  that  I  have ; 
That  I  left,  that  I  lost. 

A.  D.  1579. — '  Quoth  Robertus  Byrks,  who  in  this  world  did  reign  three- 
score years  and  seven,  and  yet  lived  not  one.'  See  Magna  Britannia,  vol. 
vi.  In  Camden's  Remains  may  be  seen  an  epitaph  similar  to  this ;  p.  619, 
ed.  1674. 

Feare  is  a  Yorkshire  word  for  mate,  or  companion. — C. 


436 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  179 


the  womb,  make  him  ?  and  did  not  one  fashion  us  in  the  womb  ? 
If  I  have  with-held  the  poor  from  their  desire,  or  have  caused  the 
eyes  of  the  widow  to  fail,  or  have  eaten  my  morsel  myself  alone, 
and  the  fatherless  hath,  not  eaten  thereof:  If  I  have  seen  any 
perish  for  want  of  cloathing,  or  any  poor  without  covering :  If 
his  loins  have  not  blessed  me,  and  if  he  were  not  warmed  with 
the  fleece  of  my  sheep :  If  I  have  lift  up  my  hand  against  the 
fatherless  when  I  saw  my  help  in  the  gate ;  then  let  mine  arm 
fall  from  my  shoulder-blade,  and  mine  arm  be  broken  from  the 
bone.  If  I  have  rejoiced  at  the  destruction  of  him  that  hated 
me  or  lift  up  myself  when  evil  found  him :  (neither  have  I  suffer- 
ed my  mouth  to  sin,  by  wishing  a  curse  to  his  soul.)  The  stran- 
ger did  not  lodge  in  the  street ;  but  I  opened  my  doors  to  the 
traveller.  If  my  land  cry  against  me,  or  that  the  furrows  like- 
wise thereof  complain  :  If  I  have  eaten  the  fruits  thereof  without 
money,  or  have  caused  the  owners  thereof  to  lose  their  life  :  let 
thistles  grow  instead  of  wheat,  and  cockle  instead  of  barley.' 

L. 


No.  179.    TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  25. 

Centuriae  seniorum  agitant  expertia  frugis : 
Celsi  praetereunt  austera  poemata  Khamnes. 
Omno  tulit  punctum  qui  misciiit  utile  dulci, 
Lectorem  delectando,  pariterque  monendo. 

IIoR.    Ars  Poet.  341. 

Old  age  explodes  all  but  morality ; 
Austerity  offends  aspiring  youth  ; 
But  ho  that  joins  instruction  with  delight, 
Profit  with  pleasure,  carries  all  the  votes. 

Eosc. 

I  MAY  cast  my  readers  under  two  general  divisions,  the  Mer- 
curial and  the  Saturnine.    The  first  are  the  gay  part  of  my  dis- 


Xo.  179.] 


SPECTATOR. 


437 


ciples,  who  require  speculations  of  wit  and  humour ;  the  others 
are  those  of  a  more  solemn  and  sober  turn,  who  find  no  pleasure 
but  in  papers  of  morality  and  sound  sense.  The  former  call 
every  thing  that  is  serious  stupid ;  the  latter  look  upon  every 
thing  as  impertinent  that  is  ludicrous.  Were  I  always  grave, 
one  half  of  my  readers  would  fall  off  from  me :  were  I  always 
merry,  I  should  lose  the  other.  I  make  it  therefore  my  en- 
deavour to  find  out  entertainments  for  both  kinds,  and  by  that 
means  perhaps  consult  the  good  of  both,  more  than  I  should  do, 
did  I  always  write  to  the  particular  taste  of  either.  As  they 
neither  of  them  know  what  I  proceed  upon,  the  sprightly  reader, 
who  takes  up  my  paper  in  order  to  be  diverted,  very  often  finds 
himself  engaged  unawares  in  a  serious  and  profitable  course  of 
thinking ;  as  on  the  contrary,  the  thoughtful  man,  who  perhaps 
may  hope  to  find  something  solid,  and  full  of  deep  reflection,  is 
very  often  insensibly  betrayed  into  a  fit  of  mirth.  In  a  word,  the 
reader  sits  down  to  my  entertainment  without  knowing  his  bill  of 
fare,  and  has  therefore  at  least  the  pleasure  of  hoping  there  may 
be  a  dish  to  his  palate. 

I  must  confess,  were  I  left  to  myself,  I  would  rather  aim  at 
instructing  than  diverting  ;  but  if  we  will  be  useful  to  the  world, 
we  must  take  it  as  we  find  it.  Authors  of  professed  severity 
discourage  the  looser  part  of  mankind  from  having  any  thing  to 
do  with  their  writings.  A  man  must  have  virtue  in  him,  before 
he  will  enter  upon  the  reading  of  a  Seneca  or  an  Epictetus.  The 
very  title  of  a  moral  treatise  has  something  in  it  austere  and 
shocking  to  the  careless  and  inconsiderate. 

For  this  reason  several  unthinking  persons  fall  in  my  way, 
who  would  give  no  attention  to  lectures  delivered  with  a  religious 
seriousness,  or  a  philosophic  gravity.  They  are  insnared  into 
sentiments  of  wisdom  and  virtue  when  they  do  not  think  of  it ; 
and  if  by  that  means  they  arrive  only  at  such  a  degree  of  consi 


438 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  119 


eration  as  may  dispose  them  to  listen  to  more  studied  and  elabo- 
rate discourses,  I  shall  not  think  my  speculations  useless.  I 
might  likewise  observe,  that  the  gloominess  in  which  sometimes 
the  minds  of  the  best  men  are  involved,  very  often  stands  in  need 
of  such  little  incitements  to  mirth  and  laughter  as  are  apt  to  dis- 
perse melancholy,  and  put  our  faculties  in  good  humour.  To 
which  some  will  add,  that  the  British  climate  more  than  any 
other  makes  entertainments  of  this  nature  in  a  manner  neces 
sary. 

If  what  I  have  here  said  does  not  recommend,  it  will  at  least 
excuse,  the  variety  of  my  speculations.  I  would  not  willingly 
laugh  but  in  order  to  instruct,  or  if  I  sometimes  fail  in  this  point, 
when  my  mirth  ceases  to  be  instructive,  it  shall  never  cease  to 
be  innocent.  A  scrupulous  conduct  in  this  particular,  has,  per- 
haps, more  merit  in  it  than  the  generality  of  readers  imagine ; 
did  they  know  how  many  thoughts  occur  in  a  point  of  humour, 
which  a  discreet  author  in  modesty  suppresses ;  how  many  strokes 
of  raillery  present  themselves,  which  could  not  fail  to  please  the 
ordinary  taste  of  mankind,  but  are  stifled  in  their  birth  by  reason 
of  some  remote  tendency  which  they  carry  in  them  to  corrupt  the 
minds  of  those  who  read  them ;  did  they  know  how  many  glances 
of  ill-nature  are  industriously  avoided  for  fear  of  doing  injury  to 
the  reputation  of  another,  they  would  be  apt  to  think  kindly  of 
those  writers  who  endeavour  to  make  themselves  diverting  with- 
out being  immoral.  One  may  apply  to  these  authors  that  pas- 
sage in  Waller, 

Poets  lose  half  the  praise  they  would  have  got, 
Were  it  but  known  what  they  discreetly  blot. 

As  nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  be  a  wit  with  all  the  abovemen- 
tioned  liberties,  it  requires  some  genius  and  invention  to  appear 
Buch  without  them. 


JSTo.  119.] 


SPECTATOR. 


439 


What  I  have  here  said  is  not  only  in  regard  to  the  public, 
but  with  an  eye  to  my  particular  correspondent,  who  has  sent  me 
the  following  letter,  which  I  have  castrated  in  some  places  upon 
these  considerations. 

Sir, 

"  Having  lately  seen  your  discourse  upon  a  match  of  grin- 
ning,^ I  cannot  forbear  giving  you  an  account  of  a  whistling 
match,  which,  with  many  others,  I  was  entertained  with  about 
three  years  since  at  the  Bath.  The  prize  was  a  guinea,  to  be 
conferred  upon  the  ablest  whistler,  that  is,  on  him  who  could 
whistle  clearest,  and  go  through  his  tune  without  laughing,  to 
which  at  the  same  time  he  was  provoked  by  the  antic  postures  of 
a  Merry- Andrew,  who  was  to  stand  upon  the  stage  and  play  his 
tricks  in  the  eye  of  the  performer.  There  were  three  competitors 
for  the  guinea.  The  first  was  a  plowman  of  a  very  promising  as- 
pect ;  his  features  were  steady,  and  his  muscles  composed  in  so 
inflexible  a  stupidity,  that  upon  his  first  appearance  every  one 
gave  the  guinea  for  lost.  The  pickled-herring,  however,  found 
the  way  to  shake  him,  for  upon  his  whistling  a  country  jig,  this 
unlucky  wag  danced  to  it  with  such  variety  of  distortions  and 
grimaces,  that  the  countryman  could  not  forbear  smiling  upon 
him,  and  by  that  means  spoiled  his  whistle  and  lost  the  prize. 

"  The  next  that  mounted  the  stage  was  an  under-citizen  of 
the  Bath,  a  person  remarkable  among  the  inferior  people  of  that 
place  for  his  great  wisdom  and  his  broad  band.^  He  contracted 
his  mouth  with  much  gravity,  and,  that  he  might  dispose  his 
mind  to  be  more  serious  than  ordinary,  begun  the  tune  ^  of  the 
children  in  the  wood,'  and  went  through  part  of  it  with  good 
success ;  when  on  a  sudden  the  wit  at  his  elbow,  who  had  ap- 

1  C'est  un  de  ceux  qu'on  n'a  pas  juge  a  propos  de  traduire.  Fr.  Spect. 
t.  ii.  p.  318.  disc.  1.— C.  2  In  ITOV.— C. 


440 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  179 


peared  wonderfully  grave  and  attentive  for  some  time,  gave  him 
a  touch  upon  the  left  shoulder,  and  stared  him  in  the  face  with  so 
bewitching  a  grin,  that  the  whistler  relaxed  his  fibres  into  a  kind 
of  simper,  and  at  length  burst  out  into  an  open  laugh.  The  third 
who  entered  the  lists  was  a  foot-man,  who  in  defiance  of  the 
Merry- Andrew,  and  all  his  arts,  whistled  a  Scotch  tune  and  an 
Italian  sonata,  with  so  settled  a  countenance,  that  he  bore  away 
the  prize,  to  the  great  admiration  of  some  hundreds  of  persons, 
who,  as  well  as  myself,  were  present  at  this  trial  of  skill.  Now, 
sir,  I  humbly  conceive,  whatever  you  have  determined  of  the 
grinners,^  the  whistlers  ought  to  be  encouraged,  not  only  as  their 
art  is  practised  without  distortion,  but  as  it  improves  country 
music,  promotes  gravity,  and  teaches  ordinary  people  to  keep 
their  countenances,  if  they  see  any  thing  ridiculous  in  their  bet- 
ters ;  besides  that,  it  seems  an  entertainment  very  particularly 
adapted  to  the  Bath,  as  it  is  usual  for  a  rider  to  whistle  to  his 
horse  when  he  would  make  his  waters  pass. 

I  am.  Sir,'  &c, 

"  After  you  have  dispatched  these  two  important  points  of 
grinning  and  whistling,  I  hope  you  will  oblige  the  world  with  some 
reflections  upon  yawning,  as  I  have  seen  it  practised  on  a  twelfth- 
night  among  other  Christmas  gambols,  at  the  house  of  a  very 
worthy  gentleman,  who  always  entertains  his  tenants  at  that  time 
of  the  year.  They  yawn  for  a  Cheshire  cheese,  and  begin  about 
mid-night,  when  the  whole  company  is  disposed  to  be  drowsy. 
He  that  yawns  widest,  and  at  the  same  time  so  naturally  as  to  pro- 
duce the  most  yawns  among  the  spectators,  carries  home  the 
cheese.  If  you  handle  this  subject  as  you  ought,  I  question  not 
but  your  paper  will  set  half  the  kingdom  a  yawning,  though  I 
dare  promise  you  it  will  never  make  any  body  fall  asleep." 

ly.  No.  173.— C. 


ISo.  181.] 


SPECTATOR. 


441 


No,  181.   THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  27. 

His  laciymis  vitam  damus,  et  misercscimus  ultro. 

YiRG.  -^n.  ii.  145. 
Mov'd  by  these  tears,  we  pity  and  protect. 

I  AM  more  pleased  with  a  letter  that  is  filled  with  touches  of 
nature  than  of  wit.    The  following  one  is  of  this  kind. 

"  Sir, 

Among  all  the  distresses  which  happen  in  families,  I  do 
not  remember  that  you  have  touched  upon  the  marriage  of  chil- 
dren without  the  consent  of  their  parents.  I  am  one  of  these 
unfortunate  persons,  I  was  about  fifteen  when  I  took  the 
liberty  to  chuse  for  myself ;  and  have  ever  since  languished 
under  the  displeasure  of  an  inexorable  father,  who,  though  he 
sees  me  happy  in  the  best  of  husbands,  and  blessed  with  very 
fine  children,  can  never  be  prevailed  upon  to  forgive  me.  He 
was  so  kind  to  me  before  this  unhappy  accident,  that  indeed  it 
makes  my  breach  of  duty  in  some  measure  inexcusable  ;  and 
at  the  same  time  creates  in  me  such  a  tenderness  towards 
him,  that  I  love  him  above  all  things,  and  would  die  to  be  re- 
conciled to  him.  I  have  thrown  myself  at  his  feet,  and  besought 
him  with  tears  to  pardon  me ;  but  he  always  pushes  me  away, 
and  spurns  me  from  him  :  I  have  written  several  letters  to  him, 
but  he  will  neither  op-en  nor  receive  them.  About  two  years 
ago  I  sent  my  little  boy  to  him,  dressed  in  a  new  apparel ;  but 
the  child  returned  to  me  crying,  because  he  said  his  grandfather 
would  not  see  him,  and  had  ordered  him  to  be  put  out  of  his 
house.  My  mother  is  won  over  to  my  side,  but  dares  not  men- 
tion me  to  my  father  for  fear  of  provoking  him.  About  a  month 
ago  he  lay  sick  upon  his  bed,  and  in  great  danger  of  his  life  :  I 

VOL.  V. — 19* 


442 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  181 


was  pierced  to  the  heart  at  the  news,  and  could  not  forbear  go- 
ing to  inquire  after  his  health.  My  mother  took  this  opportunity 
of  speaking  in  my  behalf :  she  told  him  with  abundance  of  tears, 
that  I  was  come  to  see  him,  that  I  could  not  speak  to  her  for 
weeping,  and  that  I  should  certainly  break  my  heart  if  he  refused 
at  that  time  to  give  me  his  blessing,  and  be  reconciled  to  me. 
He  was  so  far  from  relenting  towards  me,  that  he  bid  her  speak 
no  more  of  me,  unless  she  had  a  mind  to  disturb  him  in  his  last 
moments ;  for,  sir,  you  must  know  that  he  has  the  reputation  of  an 
honest  and  religious  man,  which  makes  my  misfortune  so  much 
the  greater.  God  be  thanked  he  is  since  recovered ;  but  his 
severe  usage  has  given  me  such  a  blow,  that  I  shall  soon  sink 
under  it,  unless  I  may  be  relieved  by  any  impressions  which  the 
reading  of  this  in  your  paper  may  make  upon  him.  I  am,"  &c. 

Of  all  hardnesses  of  heart,  there  is  none  so  inexcusable  as 
that  of  parents  towards  their  children.  An  obstinate,  inflexible, 
unforgiving  temper  is  odious  upon  all  occasions,  but  here  it  is 
unnatural.  The  love,  tenderness,  and  compassion  which  are  apt 
to  arise  in  us,  towards  those  who  depend  upon  us,  is  that  by 
which  the  whole  world  of  life  is  upheld.  The  Supreme  Being, 
by  the  transcendent  excellency  and  goodness  of  his  nature,  ex- 
tends his  mercy  towards  all  his  works ;  and  because  his  creatures 
have  not  such  a  spontaneous  benevolence  and  compassion  towards 
those  who  are  under  their  care  and  protection,  he  has  implanted 
in  them  an  instinct,  that  supplies  the  place  of  this  inherent  good- 
ness. I  have  illustrated  this  kind  of  instinct  in  former  papers, 
and  have  shewn  how  it  runs  through  all  the  species  of  brute 
creatures,  as  indeed  the  whole  animal  creation  subsists  by  it.^ 

This  instinct  in  man  is  more  general  and  uncircumscribed 
than  in  brutes,  as  being  enlarged  by  the  dictates  of  reason  and 

Y.  Nos.  120,  121.— C. 


^0.181.]  SPECTATOR.  443 

duty.  For  if  we  consider  ourselves  attentively,  we  shall  find  that 
we  are  not  only  inclined  to  love  those  who  descend  from  us,  but 
that  we  bear  a  kind  of  {(iTopyrj)  or,  natural  affection,  to  every 
thing  which  relies  upon  us  for  its  good  and  preservation.  De- 
pendance  is  a  perpetual  call  upon  humanity,  and  a  greater 
incitement  to  tenderness  and  pity  than  any  other  motive  what- 
soever. 

The  man  therefore  who,  notwithstanding  any  passion  or 
resentment,  can  overcome  this  powerful  instinct,  and  extin- 
guish natural  affection,  debases  his  mind  even  below  brutality, 
frustrates,  as  much  as  in  him  lies,  the  great  design  of  Providence, 
and  strikes  out  of  his  nature  one  of  the  most  divine  principles 
that  is  planted  in  it. 

Among  innumerable  arguments  which  might  be  brought 
against  such  an  unreasonable  proceeding,  I  shall  only  insist  on 
one.  We  make  it  the  condition  of  our  forgiveness  that  we  forgive 
others.  In  our  very  prayers  we  desire  no  more  than  to  be 
treated  by  this  kind  of  retaliation.  The  case  therefore  before  us 
seems  to  be  what  they  call  a  case  in  point ;  the  relation  between 
the  child  and  father  being  what  comes  nearest  to  that  between  a 
creature  and  its  creator.  If  the  father  is  inexorable  to  the  child 
who  has  offended,  let  the  offence  be  of  never  so  high  a  nature, 
how  will  he  address  himself  to  the  Supreme  Being,  under  the 
tender  appellation  of  a  father,  and  desire  of  him  such  a  forgiveness 
as  he  himself  refuses  to  grant  ? 

To  this  I  might  add  many  other  religious  as  well  as  many 
prudental  considerations  ;  but  if  the  last  mentioned  motive  does 
not  prevail,  I  despair  of  succeeding  by  any  other,  and  shall  there- 
fore conclude  my  paper  with  a  very  remarkable  story,  which  is 
recorded  in  an  old  chronicle  published  by  Freher  among  the 
writers  of  the  Grerman  history.^ 

*  Marqnard  Freher  was  a  celebrated  German  lawyer  of  the  sixteenth 


444 


SPECTATOR 


[Ko.  181 


Eginhart,  who  was  secretary  to  Charles  the  Great,  became 
exceeding  popular  by  his  behaviour  in  that  post.  His  great 
abilities  gained  him  the  favour  of  his  master,  and  the  esteem  of 
the  whole  court.  Imma,  the  daughter  of  the  emperor,  was  so 
pleased  with  his  person  and  conversation,  that  she  fell  in  love  with 
him.^  As  she  was  one  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  the  age,  Eginhart 
answered  with  a  more  than  equal  return  of  passion.  They  stifled 
their  flames  for  some  time,  under  apprehension  of  the  fatal  conse- 
quences that  might  ensue.  Eginhart  at  length  r-esolving  to  haz- 
ard all,  rather  than  live  deprived  of  one  whom  his  heart  was  so 
much  set  upon,  conveyed  himself  one  night  into  the  princess's 
apartment,  and  knocking  gently  at  the  door,  was  admitted  as  a 
person  who  had  something  to  communicate  to  her  from  the  Em- 
peror. He  was  with  her  in  private  most  part  of  the  night ;  but 
upon  his  preparing  to  go  away  about  break  of  day,  he  observed 
that  there  had  fallen  a  great  snow  during  his  stay  with  the  prin- 
cess. This  very  much  perplexed  him,  lest  the  prints  of  his  feet 
in  the  snow  might  make  discoveries  to  the  king,  who  often  used 
to  visit  his  daughter  in  the  morning.  He  acquainted  the  prin- 
cess Imma  with  his  fears  ;  who,  after  some  consultations  upon 
the  matter,  prevailed  upon  him  to  let  her  carry  him  through  the 
snow  upon  her  own  shoulders.  It  happened  that  the  Emperor 
not  being  able  to  sleep,  was  at  that  time  up  and  walking  in  his 
chamber,  when  upon  looking  through  the  window  he  perceived  his 
daughter  tottering  under  her  burthen,  and  carrying  his  first  min- 
ister across  the  snow  :  which  she  had  no  sooner  done,  but  she 

century,  who  obliged  the  world  with  many  curious  and  learned  works, 
and  among  the  rest  w^ith  Rerum  Gcrmanicarutn  Scriptores,  cfcc.  3  Tom.  1600, 
cfec.  In  this  work  he  has  inserted  an  old  monastic  chronicle  which  con- 
tains the  following  tale. — Y.  Tom.  1,  chronicon  Lavrlshamensis  Coenobii": 
sub  anno  805. — C. 

*  This  lady  had  been  betrothed  to  the  Grecian  emperor.  (Regi  Graeco- 
rum  Desponsata.    Freher.) — C. 


No.  181.] 


SPECTATOR. 


445 


returned  again  with  the  utmost  speed  to  her  own  apartment. 
The  Emperor  was  extremely  troubled  and  astonished  at  this  acci- 
dent ;  but  resolved  to  speak  nothing  of  it  till  a  proper  opportuni- 
ty. In  the  mean  time  Eginhart  knowing  what  he  had  done  could 
not  be  long  a  secret,  determined  to  retire  from  court ;  and  in 
order  to  it  begged  the  Emperor  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  dismiss 
him,  pretending  a  kind  of  discontent  at  his  not  having  been  reward 
ed  for  his  long  services.  The  Emperor  would  not  give  a  direct 
answer  to  his  petition,  but  told  him  he  would  think  of  it,  and  ap- 
pointed a  certain  day  when  he  would  let  him  know  his  pleasure. 
He  then  called  together  the  most  faithful  of  his  counsellors,  and 
acquainting  them  with  the  secretary's  crime,  asked  them  their 
advice  in  so  delicate  an  affair.  They  most  of  them  gave  their 
opinion,  that  the  person  could  not  be  too  severely  punished  who 
had  thus  dishonoured  his  master.  Upon  the  whole  debate,  the 
Emperor  declared  it  was  his  opinion,  that  Eginhart's  punishment 
would  rather  increase  than  diminish  the  shame  of  his  family,  and 
that  therefore  he  thought  it  the  most  advisable  to  wear  out  the 
memory  of  the  fact,  by  marrying  him  to  his  daughter.  Accord- 
ingly Eginhart  was  called  in,  and  acquainted  by  the  Emperor, 
that  he  should  no  longer  have  any  pretence  of  complaining  his 
services  were  not  rewarded,  for  that  the  Princess  Imma  should 
be  given  him  in  marriage,  with  a  dower  suitable  to  her  quality ; 
which  was  soon  after  performed  accordingly.^  L. 

^  Bayle,  who  lias  inserted  the  foregoing  story  in  his  dictionary  (art.  Egin- 
hart) whence  perhaps  Addison  had  it,  thinks  that  with  a  little  embeilishment 
it  might  be  made  one  of  the  pleasantest  tales  in  the  world,  particularly  ir. 
the  hands  of  such  a  writer  as  La  Fontaine.  The  frontispieces  might  affjro 
a  striking  parallel  between  the  effects  of  love,  and  the  effects  of  piety  ;  be- 
tween ^Eneas  loaded  with  his  father,  and.  Imma  bending  under  her  gallant. 
The  good  Emperor  beholding  her  at  a  distance  (as  he  was  star-gazing) 
would  not  be  the  least  interesting  figure  in  the  piece;  especially  if  th/3  en- 
graver did  but  enter  into  the  reflection  of  a  careful  father  on  such  an  occa- 
sion,— C. 


446 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  183 


No.  183.    SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  29. 

"idficu  \p€vBea  iroWa  Kfyeiv  irv/LLoicriv  6/xo7tXj 

HE3 

Sometimes  fair  truth  in  fiction  we  disguise, 
Sometimes  present  her  naked  to  men's  eyes 

Fables  were  the  first  pieces  of  wit  that  made  their  appear- 
ance in  the  world,  and  have  been  still  highly  valued,  not  only  in 
times  of  the  greatest  simplicity,  but  among  the  most  polite  ages 
of  mankind.  Jotham's  fable  of  the  trees  is  the  oldest  that  is 
extant,  and  as  beautiful  as  any  which  have  been  made  since  that 
time.  Nathan's  fable  of  the  poor  man  and  his  lamb  is  likewise 
more  ancient  than  any  that  is  extant,  besides  the  above-mention- 
ed, and  had  so  good  an  effect,  as  to  convey  instruction  to  the  ear 
of  a  king  without  offending  it,  and  to  bring  the  man  after  God's 
own  heart  to  a  right  sense  of  his  guilt  and  his  duty.  We  find 
^sop  in  the  most  distant  ages  of  Greece  ;  and  if  we  look  into  the 
very  beginning  of  the  commonwealth  of  Eome,  we  see  a  mutiny 
among  the  common  people  appeased  by  a  fable  of  the  belly  and 
the  limbs,  which  was  indeed  very  proper  to  gain  the  attention  of 
an  incenssd  rabble,  at  a  time  when  perhaps  they  would  have  torn 
to  pieces  any  man  who  had  preached  the  same  doctrine  to  them 
in  an  open  and  direct  manner.^  As  fables  took  their  birth  in  the 
very  infancy  of  learning,  they  never  flourished  more  than  when 
learning  was  at  its  greatest  height.  To  justify  this  assertion,  I 
shall  put  my  reader  in  mind  of  Horace,  the  greatest  wit  and  critic 
in  the  Augustan  age  ;  and  of  Boileau,  the  most  correct  poet 
among  the  moderns  :  not  to  mention  la  Fontaine,  who,  by  this 

»  V.  Livy,  lib.  2,  sect.  32.    Florus,  lib.  i.  c.  23.— C. 


No.  183.] 


SPECTATOR. 


447 


way  of  writing,  is  come  more  into  vogue  than  any  other  author 
of  our  times. 

The  fables  I  have  here  mentioned,  are  raised  altogether  upon 
brutes  and  vegetables,  with  some  of  our  own  species  mixt  among 
them,  when  the  moral  hath  so  required.  But,  besides  this  kind 
of  fable,  there  is  another  in  which  the  actors  are  passions,  virtues, 
vices,  and  other  imaginary  persons  of  the  like  nature.  Some  of 
the  ancient  critics  will  have  it,  that  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of 
Homer  are  fables  of  this  nature  ;  and  that  the  several  names  of 
^ods  and  heroes  are  nothing  else  but  the  affections  of  the  mind  in 
a  visible  shape  and  character.  Thus  they  tell  us,  that  Achilles, 
in  the  first  Iliad,  represents  anger,  or  the  irascible  part  of  human 
nature.  That  upon  drawing  his  sword  against  his  superior  in  a 
full  assembly,  Pallas  is  only  another  name  for  reason,  which 
checks  and  advises  him  upon  that  occasion  ;  and  at  her  first  ap- 
pearance touches  him  upon  the  head,  that  part  of  the  man  being 
looked  upon  as  the  seat  of  reason.  And  thus  of  the  rest  of  the 
poem.  As  for  the  Odyssey,  I  think  it  is  plain  that  Horace  con- 
sidered it  as  one  of  these  allegorical  fables,  by  the  moral  which 
he  has  given  us  of  several  parts  of  it.^  The  greatest  Italian  wits 
have  applied  themselves  to  the  writing  of  this  latter  kind  of 
fables ;  as  Spencer's  Fairy- Queen  is  one  continued  series  of 
them  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  that  admirable  work.  If 
we  look  into  the  finest  prose  authors  of  antiquity,  such  as  Cicero, 
Plato,  Xenophon,  and  many  others,  we  shall  find  that  this  was 
likewise  their  favourite  kind  of  fable.  I  shall  only  further 
observe  upon  it,  that  the  first  of  this  sort  that  made  any  consider- 
able figure  in  the  world,  was  that  of  Hercules  meeting  with  plea- 
sure and  virtue;  which  was  invented  by  Prodicus,  who  lived 

'  It  can  hardly  be  necessary  to  say  that  a  juster  appreciation  of  antiquity 
has  led  modern  critics  and  historians  to  reject  these  fanciful  interpreta- 
tions.— G. 


448 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  183 


before  Socrates,  and  in  the  first  dawnings  of  philosophy.  He  used 
to  travel  through  Greece  by  virtue  of  this  fable,  which  procured 
him  a  kind  reception  in  all  the  market  towns,  where  he  never  failed 
telling  it  as  soon  as  he  had  gathered  an  audience  about  hira.^ 

After  this  short  preface,  which  I  have  made  up  of  such  mate- 
rials as  my  memory  does  at  present  suggest  to  me,  before  I 
present  my  reader  with  a  fable  of  this  kind,  which  I  design  as 
the  entertainment  of  the  present  paper,  I  must  in  a  few  words 
open  the  occasion  of  it. 

In  the  account  which  Plato  gives  us  of  the  conversation  and 
behaviour  of  Socrates,  the  morning  he  was  to  die,  he  tells  the 
following  circumstance. 

When  Socrates  his  fetters  were  knocked  off  (as  was  usual  to 
be  done  on  the  day  that  the  condemned  person  was  to  be  execut- 
ed) being  seated  in  the  midst  of  his  disciples,  and  laying  one  of 
his  legs  over  the  other,  in  a  very  unconcerned  posture,  he  began 
to  rub  it  where  it  had  been  galled  by  the  iron ;  and  whether  it  was 
to  shew  the  indifference  with  which  he  entertained  the  thoughts 
of  his  approaching  death,  or  (after  his  usual  manner)  to  take 
every  occasion  of  philosophizing  upon  some  useful  subject,  he 
observed  the  pleasure  of  that  sensation  which  now  arose  in  those 
very  parts  of  his  leg,  that  just  before  had  been  so  much  pained 
by  the  fetter.  Upon  this  he  reflected  on  the  nature  of  pleasure 
and  pain  in  general,  and  how  constantly  they  succeed  one  another. 
To  this  he  added,  that  if  a  man  of  a  good  genius  for  a  fable,  were 
to  represent  the  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain  in  that  way  of  writ- 

^  Lord  Shaftesbury  wrote  a  dissertation  on  this  subject,  which  did  not 
appear  in  English  till  after  his  death  in  the  last  edition  of  his  works.  It 
was  published  in  the  Dutch  edition  of  the  Journal  des  Scavans,  Nov.  1712, 
p.  483,  and  translated  by  Mr.  Coste,  under  the  title  of  the  Judgment  of 
Hercules,  or  a  Dissertation  on  a  Painting,  the  design  of  which  is  taken  from 
the  history  of  Prodicus,  which  we  find  in  Xenophon's  Memorabilia  So- 
cratis,  lib.  ii.  Fr.  Spect.  tom.  ii.  p.  337,  Dis.  53.— C. 


No.  183.] 


SPECTATOR. 


449 


ting,  he  would  probably  join  them  together  after  such  a  manner, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  one  to  come  into  any  place 
without  being  followed  by  the  other. 

It  is  possible,  that  if  Plato  had  thought  it  proper  at  such  a 
time  to  describe  Socrates  launching  out  into  a  discourse  which 
was  not  of  a  piece  with  the  business  of  the  day,  he  would  have 
enlarged  upon  this  hint,  and  have  drawn  it  out  into  some  beauti- 
ful allegory  or  fable.  But  since  he  has  not  done  it,  I  shall 
attempt  to  write  one  myself  in  the  spirit  of  that  divine  author. 

*  There  were  two  families,  which  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world  were  as  opposite  to  each  other  as  light  and  darkness.  The 
one  of  them  lived  in  Heaven,  and  the  other  in  Hell.  The  young- 
est descendant  of  the  first  family  was  Pleasure,  who  was  the 
daughter  of  Happiness,  who  was  the  child  of  Virtue,  who  was  the 
offspring  of  the  Gods.  These,  as  I  said  before,  had  their  habi- 
tation in  Heaven.  The  youngest  of  the  opposite  family  was  Pain, 
who  was  the  son  of  Misery,  who  was  the  child  of  Vice,  who  was 
the  ofi*spring  of  the  Furies.  The  habitation  of  this  race  of  beings 
was  in  Hell. 

^  The  middle  station  of  nature  between  these  two  opposite 
extremes  was  the  earth,  which  was  inhabited  by  creatures  of  a 
middle  kind,  neither  so  virtuous  as  the  one,  nor  so  vicious  as  the 
other,  but  partaking  of  the  good  and  bad  qualities  of  these  two 
opposite  families.  Jupiter  considering  that  this  species,  common- 
ly called  man,  was  too  virtuous  to  be  miserable,  and  too  vicious 
to  be  happy,  that  he  might  make  a  distinction  between  the  good 
and  the  bad,  ordered  the  two  youngest  of  the  abovementioned 
families,  Pleasure,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Happiness,  and  Pain, 
who  was  the  son  of  Misery,  to  meet  one  another  upon  this  part  of 
nature  which  lay  in  the  half  way  between  them,  having  promised 
to  settle  it  upon  both,  provided  they  could  agree  upon  the  division 
of  it,  so  as  to  share  mankind  between  them. 


450 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  183 


*  Pleasure  and  Pain  were  no  sooner  met  in  their  new  habita- 
tion, but  they  immediately  agreed  upon  this  point,  that  Pleasure 
should  take  possession  of  the  virtuous,  and  Pain  of  the  vicious, 
part  of  that  species  which  was  given  up  to  them.  But  upon 
examining  to  which  of  them  any  individual  they  met  with  belong 
ed,  they  found  each  of  them  had  a  right  to  him ;  for  that,  contrary 
to  what  they  had  seen  in  their  old  places  of  residence,  there  was 
no  person  so  vicious  who  had  not  some  good  in  him,  nor  any  person 
so  virtuous  who  had  not  in  him  some  evil.  The  truth  of  it  is,  they 
generally  found  upon  search,  that  in  the  most  vicious  man  Pleasure 
might  lay  claim  to  an  hundredth  part,  and  that  in  the  most  vir- 
tuous man.  Pain  might  come  in  for  at  least  two  thirds.  This  they 
saw  would  occasion  endless  disputes  between  them,  unless  they 
could  come  to  some  accommodation.  To  this  end  there  was  a  mar- 
riage proposed  between  them,  and  at  length  concluded  :  by  this 
means  it  is  that  we  find  Pleasure  and  Pain  are  such  constant  yoke- 
fellows, and  that  they  either  make  their  visits  together,  or  are 
never  far  asunder.  If  Pain  comes  into  an  heart,  he  is  quickly 
followed  by  Pleasure ;  and  if  Pleasure  enters,  you  may  be  sure 
Pain  is  not  far  off. 

^  But,  notwithstanding  this  marriage  was  very  convenient  for 
the  two  parties,  it  did  not  seem  to  answer  the  intention  of  Jupiter 
in  sending  them  among  mankind.  To  remedy,  therefore,  this  in- 
convenience, it  was  stipulated  between  them  by  article,  and  con- 
firmed by  the  consent  of  each  family,  that  notwithstanding  they 
here  possessed  the  species  indifferently,  upon  the  death  of  every 
single  person,  if  he  was  found  to  have  in  him  a  certain  proportion 
of  evil,  he  should  be  dispatched  into  the  infernal  regions  by  a 
passport  from  Pain,  there  to  dwell  with  Misery,  Vice,  and  the 
Furies.  Or,  on  the  contrary,  if  he  had  in  him  a  certain  propor- 
tion of  good,  he  should  be  dispatched  into  heaven  by  a  passport 
from  Pleasure,  there  to  dwell  with  Happiness,  Virtue,  and  the 
Gods.'  L. 


No.  184.] 


SPECTATOR. 


451 


No.  184.   MONDAY,  OCTOBER  1. 

 Opere  in  longo  fas  est  obrepere  somnum. 

Hob.  Ars  Poet.  360. 

Who  labors  long  may  be  allowed  to  sleep. 

When  a  man  has  discovered  a  new  vein  of  humour,  it  often 
carries  him  much  further  than  he  expected  from  it.  My  corres- 
pondents take  the  hint  I  give  them,  and  pursue  it  into  specula- 
tions which  I  never  thought  of  at  my  first  starting  it.  This  has 
been  the  fate  of  my  paper  on  the  match  of  grinning,  which  has 
already  produced  a  second  paper  on  parallel  subjects,^  and  brought 
me  the  following  letter  by  the  last  post.  I  shall  not  premise 
any  thing  to  it  further,  than  that  it  is  built  on  matter  of  fact,  and 
is  as  follows. 

"  Sir, 

"  You  have  already  obliged  the  world  with  a  discourse  upon 
Grinning,  and  have  since  proceeded  to  Whistling,  from  whence 
you  at  length  came  to  Yawning ;  from  this,  I  think,  you  may 
make  a  very  natural  transition  to  Sleeping.  I  therefore  recom- 
mend to  you  for  the  subject  of  a  paper  the  following  advertise- 
ment, which  about  two  months  ago  was  given  into  every  body's 
hands,  and  may  be  seen  with  some  additions  in  the  Daily  Courant 
of  August  the  ninth. 

"  Nicholas  Hart,^  who  slept  last  year  in  St.  Bartholomew's 
1  Y.  Nos.  173-119.— C. 

^  Nicholas  Hart  was  born  at  Ley  den,  Aug.  5,  1689.  King  "WiHiam  was 
two  years  under  the  tuition  of  his  father,  John  Hart,  who  was  a  man  of 
learning  and  a  good  mathematician.  Nicholas,  one  of  ten  children,  could 
speak  French,  Dutch  and  English,  but  he  was  no  scholar  and  had  led  a 
seafaring  life  from  twelve  years  of  age.  He  was  a  patient  in  Courtainward 
in  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital  for  the  stone  and  gravel  several  weeks 


452 


SPECTATOR. 


[1^0. 184. 


Hospital,  intends  to  sleep  this  year  at  the  Cock  and  Bottle  in 
Little  Britain. 

Having  since  inquired  into  the  matter  of  fact,  I  find  that 
the  above-mentioned  Nicholas  Hart  is  every  year  seized  with  a 
periodical  fit  of  sleeping,  which  begins  upon  the  fifth  of  August, 
and  ends  on  the  eleventh  of  the  same  month  :  That, 

On  the  first  of  that  month,  he  grew  dull ; 

On  the  second,  appeared  drowsy ; 

On  the  third,  fell  a  yawning ; 

On  the  fourth,  began  to  nod ; 

On  the  fifth,  dropped  asleep ; 

On  the  sixth,  was  heard  to  snore ; 

On  the  seventh,  turned  himself  in  his  bed ; 

On  the  eighth,  recovered  his  former  posture ; 

On  the  ninth,  fell  a  stretching ; 

On  the  tenth,  about  midnight,  awaked ; 

On  the  eleventh,  in  the  morning,  called  for  a  little  small-beer. 

"  This  account  I  have  extracted  out  of  the  journal  of  this 
sleeping  worthy,  as  it  has  been  faithfully  kept  by  a  gentleman  of 
Lincoln's-Inn,  who  has  undertaken  to  be  his  historiographer.  I 
have  sent  it  to  you,  not  only  as  it  represents  the  actions  of 
Nicholas  Hart,  but  as  it  seems  a  very  natural  picture  of  the  life 
of  many  an  honest  English  gentleman,  whose  whole  history  very 
often  consists  of  yawning,  nodding,  stretching,  turning,  sleeping, 
drinking,  and  the  like  extraordinary  particulars.    I  do  not  ques- 

before  the  6th  of  August,  1711,  when  he  was  aged  22.  To  an  account  of 
himself,  too  long  to  be  given  here,  he  set  his  mark  August  3,  1711,  expecting 
to  fall  asleep  August  5,  in  two  days  after.  This  strange  account  is  likewise 
signed  by  William  Hill,  sen.,  Is^o.  1  Lincoln's  Inn,  the  person  here  alluded 
to  as  his  historiographer.  Mss.  Birch,  4291,  f.  B.  2,  Museum.  See  als« 
British  Apollo,  v.  iii.  No.  69,  Sept,  4,  1780,— C, 


No.  184.] 


SPEC  TATOR . 


453 


tion,  sir,  that  if  you  pleased,  you  could  put  out  an  advertisement, 
not  unlike  the  above-mentioned,  of  several  men  of  figure ;  that 
Mr.  John  Such-a  one,  gentleman,  or  Thomas  Such-a-one,  esquire, 
who  slept  in  the  country  last  summer,  intends  to  sleep  in  town 
this  winter.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  the  drowsy  part  of  our 
species  is  chiefly  made  up  of  very  honest  gentlemen,  who  live 
quietly  among  their  neighbours,  without  ever  disturbing  the  pub- 
lic peace  :  they  are  drones  without  stings.  I  could  heartily  wish, 
that  several  turbulent,  restless,  ambitious  spirits,  would  for  a 
while  change  places  with  these  good  men,  and  enter  themselves 
into  Nicholas  Hart's  fraternity.  Could  one  but  lay  asleep  a  few 
busy  heads,  Vv^hich  I  could  name^  from  the  first  of  November  next 
to  the  first  of  May  ensuing,^  I  question  not  but  it  would  very 
much  redound  to  the  quiet  of  particular  persons,  as  well  as  to  the 
benefit  of  the  public. 

But  to  return  to  Nicholas  Hart :  I  believe,  sir,  you  will 
think  it  a  very  extraordinary  circumstance  for  a  man  to  gain  his 
livelihood  by  sleeping,  and  that  rest  should  procure  a  man  suste- 
nance as  well  as  industry ;  yet  so  it  is  that  Nicholas  got  last  year 
enough  to  support  himself  for  a  twelvemonth.  I  am  likewise  in- 
formed that  he  has  this  year  had  a  very  comfortable  nap.  The 
poets  value  themselves  very  much  for  sleeping  on  Parnassus,  but 
I  never  heard  they  got  a  groat  by  it :  on  the  contrary,  our  friend 
Nicholas  gets  more  by  sleeping  than  he  could  by  working,  and 
may  be  more  properly  said,  than  ever  Homer  was,  to  have  had 
golden  dreams.  Juvenal,  indeed,  mentions  a  drowsy  husband, 
who  raised  an  estate  by  snoring,  but  then  he  is  represented  to 
have  slept  what  the  common  people  call  dog's  sleep ;  or,  if  his 
sleep  was  real,  his  wife  was  awake,  and  about  her  business  :  your 
pen,  which  loves  to  moralize  upon  all  subjects,  may  raise  some- 
thing, methinks,  on  this  circumstance  also,  and  point  out  to  us 

1  The  time  in  which  the  Parliament  usually  sits. — C. 


454 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  185 


those  sets  of  men,  who,  instead  of  growing  rich  by  an  honest  in 
dustry,  recommend  themselves  to  the  favours  of  the  great,  by 
making  themselves  agreeable  companions  in  the  participations  of 
luxury  and  pleasure. 

"  I  must  further  acquaint  you,  sir,  that  one  of  the  most  emi 
nent  pens  in  Grub-street  is  now  employed  in  writing  the  dream 
of  this  miraculous  sleeper,  which  I  hear  will  be  of  more  than  or 
dinary  length,  as  it  must  contain  all  the  particulars  that  are  sup 
posed  to  have  passed  in  his  imagination  during  so  long  a  sleep. 
He  is  said  to  have  gone  already  through  three  days  and  three 
nights  of  it,  and  to  have  comprised  in  them  the  most  remarkable 
passages  of  the  four  first  empires  of  the  world.  If  he  can  keep 
free  from  party-strokes,  his  work  may  be  of  use  ;  but  this  I  much 
doubt,  having  been  informed  by  one  of  his  friends  and  confidents, 
that  he  has  spoken  some  things  of  Nimrod  with  too  great  free- 
dom. 

"  I  am  ever,  sir,"  &c. 

L. 


No.  185.    TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  2. 

 Tantaene  animis  coelestibus  irse  ? 

ViRG.  ^n.  i.  15. 
In  heavenly  minds  can  such  resentment  dwell  ? 

There  is  nothing  in  which  men  more  deceive  themselves  than 
in  what  the  world  call  zeal.  There  are  so  many  passions  which 
hide  themselves  under  it,  and  so  many  mischiefs  arising  from  it, 
that  some  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  it  would  have  been  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind  if  it  had  never  been  reckoned  in  the  catalogue 
of  virtues.  It  is  certain,  where  it  is  once  laudable  and  pruden- 
tial, it  is  an  hundred  times  criminal  and  erroneous  ;  nor  can  it  be 


No.185.] 


SPECTATOR. 


455 


otherwise,  if  we  consider  that  it  operates  with  equal  violence  in 
all  religions,  however  opposite  they  may  be  to  one  another,  and 
in  all  the  subdivisions  of  each  religion  in  particular. 

We  are  told  by  some  of  the  Jewish  Eabbins,  that  the  first 
murder  was  occasioned  by  a  religious  controversy ;  and  if  we  had 
the  whole  history  of  zeal  from  the  days  of  Cain  to  our  own  times, 
we  should  see  it  filled  with  so  many  scenes  of  slaughter  and 
bloodshed,  as  would  make  a  wise  man  very  careful  how  he  sufi*ers 
himself  to  be  actuated  by  such  a  principle,  when  it  only  regards 
matters  of  opinion  and  speculation. 

I  would  have  every  zealous  man  examine  his  heart  thorough- 
ly, and,  I  believe,  he  will  often  find,  that  what  he  calls  a  zeal  for 
his  religion,  is  either  pride,  interest,  or  ill-nature.  A  man  who 
difi'ers  from  another  in  opinion,  sets  himself  above  him  in  his  own 
judgment,  and  in  several  particulars  pretends  to  be  the  wiser 
person.  This  is  a  great  provocation  to  the  proud  man,  and  gives 
a  keen  edge  to  what  he  calls  his  zeal.  And  that  this  is  the  case 
very  often,  we  may  observe  from  the  behaviour  of  some  of  the 
most  zealous  for  orthodoxy,  who  have  often  great  friendships  and 
intimacies  with  vicious  immoral  men,  provided  they  do  but  agree 
with  them  in  the  same  scheme  of  belief.  The  reason  is,  because 
the  vicious  believer  gives  the  precedency  to  the  virtuous  man,  and 
allows  the  good  Christian  to  be  the  worthier  person,  at  the  same 
time  that  he  cannot  come  up  to  his  perfections.  This  we  find  ex- 
emplified in  that  trite  passage  which  we  see  quoted  in  almost 
every  system  of  ethics,  though  upon  another  occasion ; 

 Video  meliora,  proboque  : 

Deteriora  sequor  

Ovid.  Met.  vii.  20. 

I  see  the  right,  and  I  approve  it  too ; 
Condemn  the  wrong,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue. 

Tate. 


456 


SPECTATOR . 


[No.  185 


On  the  contrary,  it  is  certain,  if  our  zeal  were  true  and  genuine, 
we  should  be  much  more  angry  with  a  sinner  than  a  heretic ; 
since  there  are  several  cases  which  may  excuse  the  latter  before 
his  great  judge,  but  none  which  can  excuse  the  former. 

Interest  is  likewise  a  great  inflamer,  and  sets  a  man  on  perse- 
cution under  the  colour  of  zeal.  For  this  reason  we  find  none 
are  so  forward  to  promote  the  true  worship  by  fire  and  sword,  as 
those  who  find  their  present  account  in  it.  But  I  shall  extend 
the  word  interest  to  a  larger  meaning  than  what  is  generally 
given  it,  as  it  relates  to  our  spiritual  safety  and  welfare,  as  well 
as  to  our  temporal.  A  man  is  glad  to  gain  numbers  on  his  side,  as 
they  serve  to  strengthen  him  in  his  private  opinions.  Every 
proselyte  is  like  a  new  argument  for  the  establishment  of  his 
faith.  It  makes  him  believe  that  his  principles  carry  conviction 
with  them,  and  are  the  more  likely  to  be  true,  when  he  finds  they 
are  conformable  to  the  reason  of  others,  as  well  as  his  own.  And 
that  this  temper  of  mind  deludes  a  man  very  often  into  an  opin- 
ion of  his  zeal,  may  appear  from  the  common  behaviour  of  the 
atheist,  who  maintains  and  spreads  his  opinions  with  as  much 
heat  as  those  who  believe  they  do  it  only  out  of  a  passion  for 
God's  glory. 

Ill-nature  is  another  dreadful  imitator  of  zeal.  Many  a  good 
man  may  have  a  natural  rancour  and  malice  in  his  heart,  which 
has  been  in  some  measure  quelled  and  subdued  by  religion  ;  but 
if  it  finds  any  pretence  of  breaking  out,  which  does  not  seem  to 
him  inconsistent  with  the  duties  of  a  Christian,  it  throws  ofi"  all 
restraint,  and  rages  in  its  full  fury.  Zeal  is,  therefore,  a  great 
ease  to  a  malicious  man,  by  making  him  believe  he  does  God  ser- 
vice, whilst  he  is  gratifying  the  bent  of  a  perverse  revengeful 
temper.  For  this  reason  we  find,  that  most  of  the  massacres 
and  devastations  which  have  been  in  the  world,  have  taken  their 
rise  from  a  furious  pretended  zeal. 


Ko.  185.] 


SPECTATOR. 


457 


I  love  to  see  a  man  zealous  in  a  good  matter,  and  especially 
when  his  zeal  shews  itself  for  advancing  morality,  and  promoting 
the  happiness  of  mankind :  but  when  I  find  the  instruments  he 
works  with  are  racks  and  gibbets,  gallies  and  dungeons  ;  when  he 
imprisons  men's  persons,  confiscates  their  estates,  ruins  their 
families,  and  burns  the  body  to  save  the  soul ;  I  cannot  stick  to 
pronounce  of  such  a  one,  that  (whatever  he  may  think  of  his 
faith  and  religion)  his  faith  is  vain,  and  his  religion  unprofit- 
able. 

After  having  treated  of  these  false  zealots  in  religion,  I  can- 
not forbear  mentioning  a  monstrous  species  of  men,  who  one 
would  not  think  had  any  existence  in  nature,  were  they  not  to  be 
met  with  in  ordinary  conversation,  I  mean  the  zealots  in  atheism 
One  would  fancy  that  these  men,  though  they  fall  short  in  every 
other  respect,  of  those  who  make  a  profession  of  religion,  would 
at  least  out-shine  them  in  this  particular,  and  be  exempt  from 
that  single  fault  which  seems  to  grow  out  of  the  imprudent  fer- 
vours of  religion  :  but  so  it  is,  that  infidelity  is  propagated  with 
as  much  fierceness  and  contention,  wrath  and  indignation,  as  if 
the  safety  of  mankind  depended  upon  it.  There  is  something  so 
ridiculous  and  perverse  in  this  kind  of  zealots,  that  one  does  not 
know  how  to  set  them  out  in  their  proper  colours.  They  are  a 
sort  of  gamesters  who  are  eternally  upon  the  fret,  though  they 
play  for  nothing.  They  are  perpetually  teazing  their  friends  to 
come  over  to  them,  though  at  the  same  time  they  allow  that 
neither  of  them  shall  get  any  thing  by  the  bargain.  In  short,  the 
zeal  of  spreading  atheism  is,  if  possible,  more  absurd  than  athe- 
ism itself. 

Since  I  have  mentioned  this  unaccountable  z^al  which  appears 
in  atheists  and  infidels,  I  must  further  observe,  that  they  are  like- 
wise in  a  most  particular  manner  possessed  with  the  spirit  of  big- 
otry.   They  are  wedded  to  opinions  full  of  contradiction  and 
VOL.    v.— 20 


458  SPECTATOR.  [No.  186. 

impossibility,  and  at  the  same  time  look  upon  the  smallest  diffi- 
culty in  an  article  of  faith  as  a  sufficient  reason  for  rejecting  it. 
Notions  that  fall  in  with  the  common  reason  of  mankind,  that 
are  conformable  to  the  sense  of  all  ages  and  all  nations,  not  to 
mention  their  tendency  for  promoting  the  happiness  of  societies, 
or  of  particular  persons,  are  exploded  as  errors  and  prejudices ; 
and  schemes  erected  in  their  stead,  that  are  altogether  monstrous 
and  irrational,  and  require  the  most  extravagant  credulity  to  em- 
brace them.  I  would  fain  ask  one  of  these  bigotted  infidels,  sup- 
posing all  the  great  points  of  atheism,  as  the  casual  or  eternal 
formation  of  the  world,  the  materiality  of  a  thinking  substance, 
the  mortality  of  the  soul,  the  fortuitous  organization  of  the  body, 
the  motions  and  gravitation  of  matter,  with  the  like  particulars, 
were  laid  together  and  formed  into  a  kind  of  creed,  according  to 
the  opinions  of  the  most  celebrated  atheists  ;  I  say,  supposing 
such  a  creed  as  this  were  formed,  and  imposed  upon  any  one  peo- 
ple in  the  world,  whether  it  would  not  require  an  infinitely  greater 
measure  of  faith,  than  any  set  of  articles  which  they  so  violently 
oppose.  Let  me  therefore  advise  this  generation  of  wranglers, 
for  their  own  and  for  the  public  good,  to  act  at  least  so  consist- 
ently with  themselves,  as  not  to  burn  with  zeal  for  irreligion,  and 
with  bigotry  for  nonsense.  C. 


No.  186.    WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  3. 

Cfielum  ipsum  petimus  stnltitia  

HoR.  iii.  Od.  1,  38. 
High  heaven  itself  our  impious  rage  assails. 


Upon  my  return  to  my  lodgings  last  night,  I  found  a  letter 
from  my  worthy  friend  the  clergyman,  whom  I  have  given  some 


No.  186.] 


SPECTATOR. 


459 


account  of  in  my  former  papers.  He  tells  me  in  it  that  he  was 
particularly  pleased  with  the  latter  part  of  my  yesterday's  spec- 
ulation; and  at  the  same  time  enclosed  the  following  essay, 
which  he  desires  me  to  publish  as  the  sequel  of  that  discourse. 
It  consists  partly  of  uncommon  reflections,  and  partly  of  such  as 
have  been  already  used,  but  now  set  in  a  stronger  light. 

"  A  Believer  may  be  excused  by  the  most  hardened  atheist 
for  endeavouring  to  make  him  a  convert,  because  he  does  it  with 
an  eye  to  both  their  interests.  The  atheist  is  inexcusable  who 
tries  to  gain  over  a  believer,  because  he  does  not  propose  the  do- 
ing himself  or  believer  any  good  by  such  a  conversion. 

"  The  prospect  of  a  future  state  is  the  secret  comfort  and  re- 
freshment of  my  soul :  it  is  that  which  makes  nature  look  gay 
about  me  ;  it  doubles  all  my  pleasures,  and  supports  me  under  all 
my  afflictions.  I  can  look  at  disappointments  and  misfortunes, 
pain  and  sickness,  death  itself,  and  what  is  worse  than  death,  the 
loss  of  those  who  are  dearest  to  me,  with  indifference,  so  long  as 
I  keep  in  view  the  pleasures  of  eternity,  and  the  state  of  being 
in  which  there  will  be  no  fears  nor  apprehensions,  pains  nor  sor- 
sows,  sickness  nor  separation.  Why  will  any  man  be  so  imperti- 
nently officious,  as  to  tell  me  all  this  is  only  fancy  and  delusion  ? 
Is  there  any  merit  in  being  the  messenger  of  ill  news  ?  If  it  is  a 
dream,  let  me  enjoy  it,  since  it  makes  me  both  the  happier  and 
better  man. 

"  I  must  confess  I  do  not  know  how  to  trust  a  man  who  be- 
lieves neither  heaven  nor  hell,  or  in  other  words,  a  future  state 
of  rewards  and  punishments.  Not  only  natural  self-love,  but 
reason,  directs  us  to  promote  our  own  interest  above  all  things. 
It  can  never  be  for  the  interest  of  a  believer  to  do  me  a  mischief, 
because  he  is  sure  upon  the  balance  of  accounts  to  find  himself  a 
loser  by  it.    On  the  contrary,  if  he  considers  his  own  welfare  in 


460 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  186. 


his  behaviour  towards  me,  it  will  lead  him  to  do  me  all  the  good 
he  can,  and  at  the  same  time  restrain  him  from  doing  me  an  in- 
jury. An  unbeliever  does  not  act  like  a  reasonable  creature,  if 
he  favours  me  contrary  to  his  present  interest,  or  does  not  dis- 
tress me  when  it  turns  to  his  present  advantage.  Honour  and 
good-nature  may  indeed  tie  up  his  hands  ;  but  as  these  would  be 
very  much  strengthened  by  reason  and  principle,  so  without  them 
they  are  only  instincts,  or  wavering  unsettled  notions,  which  rest 
on  no  foundations. 

"  Infidelity  has  been  attacked  with  so  good  success  of  late 
years,  that  it  is  driven  out  of  all  its  out-works.  The  atheist 
has  not  found  his  post  tenable,  and  is  therefore  retired  into  deism, 
and  a  disbelief  of  revealed  religion  only.  But  the  truth  of  it  is, 
the  greatest  number  of  this  set  of  men,  are  those  who,  for  want 
of  a  virtuous  education,  or  examining  the  grounds  of  religion, 
know  so  very  little  of  the  matter  in  question,  that  their  infidelity 
is  but  another  term  for  their  ignorance. 

"  As  folly  and  inconsiderateness  are  the  foundations  of  infi- 
delity, the  great  pillars  and  supports  of  it  are  either  a  vanity  of 
appearing  wiser  than  the  rest  of  mankind,  or  an  ostentation  of 
courage  in  despising  the  terrors  of  another  world,  which  have  so 
great  an  influence  on  what  they  call  weaker  minds  ;  or  an  aversion 
to  a  belief  that  must  cut  them  off  from  many  of  those  pleasures 
they  propose  to  themselves,  and  fill  them  with  remorse  for  many 
of  those  they  have  already  tasted. 

"  The  great  received  articles  of  the  Christian  religion,  have 
been  so  clearly  proved  from  the  authority  of  that  divine  revela- 
tion in  which  they  are  delivered,  that  it  is  impossible  for  those 
who  have  ears  to  hear  and  eyes  to  see,  not  to  be  convinced  of 
them.  But  were  it  possible  for  any  thing  in  the  Christian  faith 
to  be  erroneous,  I  can  find  no  ill  consequences  in  adhering  to  it. 
The  great  points  of  the  incarnation  and  sufferings  of  our  Saviour, 


No.  186.]. 


SPECTATOR. 


461 


produce  naturally  such  habits  of  virtue  in  the  mind  of  man, that, 
I  say,  supposing  it  were  possible  for  us  to  be  mistaken  in  them, 
the  infidel  himself  must  at  least  allow  that  no  other  system  of 
religion  could  so  effectually  contribute  to  the  heightening  of  mo 
rality.  They  give  us  great  ideas  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature, 
and  of  the  love  which  the  Supreme  Being  bears  to  his  creatures, 
and  consequently  engage  us  in  the  highest  acts  of  duty  towards 
our  Creator,  our  neighbour,  and  ourselves.  How  many  noble  ar- 
guments has  Saint  Paul  raised  from  the  chief  articles  of  our  reli- 
gion, for  the  advancing  of  morality  in  its  three  great  branches  ? 
To  give  a  single  example  in  each  kind :  what  can  be  a  stronger 
motive  to  a  firm  trust  and  reliance  on  the  mercies  of  our  Maker, 
than  the  giving  us  his  Son  to  suffer  for  us  ?  what  can  make  us 
love  and  esteem  even  the  most  inconsiderable  of  mankind,  more 
than  the  thought  that  Christ  died  for  him  ?  Or  what  dispose  us 
to  a  stricter  guard  upon  the  purity  of  our  own  hearts,  than  our 
being  members  of  Christ,  and  a  part  of  the  society  of  which  that 
immaculate  person  is  the  head  ?  But  these  are  only  a  specimen 
of  those  admirable  enforcements  of  morality  which  the  apostle 
has  drawn  from  the  history  of  our  blessed  Saviour. 

"  If  our  modern  infidels  considered  these  matters  with  that 
candour  and  seriousness  which  they  deserve,  we  should  not  see 
them  act  with  such  a  spirit  of  bitterness,  arrogance,  and  malice : 
they  would  not  be  raising  such  insignificant  cavils,  doubts,  and 
scruples,  as  may  be  started  against  every  thing  that  is  not  capa- 
ble of  mathematical  demonstration ;  in  order  to  unsettle  the  minds 
of  the  ignorant,  disturb  the  public  peace,  subvert  morality,  and 
throw  all  things  into  confusion  and  disorder.  If  none  of  these 
reflections  can  have  any  influence  on  them,  there  is  one  that  per- 
haps may ;  because  it  is  adapted  to  their  vanity,  by  which  they 
seem  to  be  guided  much  more  than  their  reason.  I  would  there- 
fore have  them  consider,  that  the  wisest  and  best  of  men  in  all 


462 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  189. 


ages  of  the  world,  have  been  those  who  lived  up  to  the  religion 
of  their  country,  when  they  saw  nothing  in  it  opposite  to  morali- 
ty, and  to  the  best  lights  they  had  of  the  Divine  Nature.  Pytha- 
goras's  first  rule  directs  us  to  worship  the  gods  ^  as  it  is  ordain- 
ed by  law,'  for  that  is  the  most  natural  interpretation  of  the  pre- 
cept.^ Socrates,  who  was  the  most  renowned  among  the  heathens 
both  for  wisdom  and  virtue,  in  his  last  moments  desires  his  friends 
to  offer  a  cock  to  j5]sculapius  ;  doubtless  out  of  a  submissive  def- 
erence to  the  established  worship  of  his  country.  Xenophon 
tells  us,  that  his  prince  (whom  he  sets  forth  as  a  pattern  of  per- 
fection) when  he  found  his  death  approaching,  offered  sacrifices  on 
the  mountains  to  the  Persian  Jupiter,  and  the  Sun,  "  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  Persians ;  for  those  are  the  words  of  the 
historian.'^  Nay,  the  Epicureans  and  atomical  philosophers 
shewed  a  very  remarkable  modesty  in  this  particular ;  for,  though 
the  being  of  a  God  was  entirely  repugnant  to  their  schemes  of 
natural  philosophy,  they  contented  themselves  with  the  denial  of 
a  Providence,  asserting  at  the  same  time,  the  existence  of  gods  in 
general ;  because  they  would  not  shock  the  common  belief  of 
mankind,  and  the  religion  of  their  country.  L. 


No.  189.     SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  6. 

 Patrite  pietatis  imago. 

ViRG.  ^n.  X.  824. 

An  image  of  paternal  tenderness. 

The  following  letter  being  written  to  my  bookseller,  upon  a 
subject  of  which  I  treated  some  time  since,  I  shall  publish  it  in 
this  paper,  together  with  the  letter  that  was  enclosed  in  it. 

» V.  Spect.  112,  note.— C.  ^  Cyrop.  L.  8.— C. 


No.  189.] 


SPECTATOR. 


"  Mr.  Buckley, 
"  Mr.  Spectator,  having  of  late  descanted  upon  the  cruelty 
of  parents  to  their  children,^  I  have  been  induced  (at  the  request 
of  several  of  Mr.  Spectator's  admirers)  to  enclose  this  letter, 
which  I  assure  you  is  the  original  from  a  father  to  his  son,  not- 
withstanding the  latter  gave  but  little  or  no  provocation.  It 
would  be  wonderfully  obliging  to  the  world,  if  Mr.  Spectator 
would  give  his  opinion  of  it  in  some  of  his  speculations,  and  par- 
ticularly to 

(Mr.  Buckley)  Your  humble  Servant." 

"  Sirrah, 

*  You  are  a  saucy  audacious  rascal,  and  both  fool  and  mad, 
and  I  care  not  a  farthing  whether  you  comply  or  no  ;  that  does 
not  raze  out  my  impressions  of  your  insolence,  going  about  railing 
at  me,  and  the  next  day  to  solicit  my  favour  :  these  are  incon- 
sistencies, such  as  discover  thy  reason  depraved.  To  be  brief,  I 
never  desire  to  see  your  face ;  and,  sirrah,  if  you  go  to  the  work- 
house, it  is  no  disgrace  to  me  for  you  to  be  supported  there ;  and 
if  you  starve  in  the  streets,  I'll  never  give  any  thing  underhand 
in  your  behalf.  If  I  have  any  more  of  your  scribbling  nonsense, 
I  will  break  your  head  the  first  time  I  set  sight  on  you.  You 
are  a  stubborn  beast ;  is  this  your  gratitude  for  my  giving  you 
money  ?  You  rogue,  I'll  better  your  judgment,  and  give  you  a 
greater  sense  of  your  duty  to  (I  regret  to  say)  your  father,  &c. 

"  P.S.  It  is  prudence  for  you  to  keep  out  of  my  sight ;  for  to 
reproach  me,  that  might  overcomes  right,  on  the  outside  of  your 
letter,  I  shall  give  you  a  great  knock  on  the  skull  for  it." 

Was  there  ever  such  an  image  of  paternal  tenderness !  It 
was  usual  among  some  of  the  Greeks  to  make  their  slaves  drink 
to  excess,  and  then  expose  them  to  their  children,  who  by  that 
means  conceived  an  early  aversion  to  a  vice  which  makes  men 
^  V.  Nos.  181,  182.— C. 


464 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  189. 


appear  so  monstrous  and  irrational.  I  have  exposed  this  picture 
of  an  unnatural  father  with  the  same  intention,  that  its  deform- 
ity may  deter  others  from  its  resemblance.  If  the  reader  has 
a  mind  to  see  a  father  of  the  same  stamp  represented  in  the  most 
exquisite  strokes  of  humour,  he  may  meet  with  it  in  one  of  the 
finest  comedies  that  ever  appeared  upon  the  English  stage  :  I 
mean  the  part  of  Sir  Sampson  in  Love  for  Love. 

I  must  not,  however,  engage  myself  blindly  on  the  side  of 
the  son,  to  whom  the  fond  letter  above-written  was  directed. 
His  father  calls  him  ^  a  saucy  and  audacious  rascal '  in  the  first 
line ;  and  I  am  afraid,  upon  examination,  he  will  prove  but  an 
ungracious  youth.  ^  To  go  about  railing  '  at  his  father,  and  to 
find  no  other  place  but  ^  the  outside  of  his  letter  '  to  tell  him 
*  that  might  overcomes  right,'  if  it  does  not  ^  discover  his  reason 
to  be  depraved,'  and  '  that  he  is  either  fool  or  mad,'  as  the  chole- 
ric old  gentleman  tells  him,  we  may  at  least  allow  that  the  father 
will  do  very  well  in  endeavouring  to  ^  better  his  judgment,  and 
give  him  a  greater  sense  of  his  duty.'  But  whether  this  may  be 
brought  about  by  ^  breaking  his  head,'  or,  *  giving  him  a  great 
knock  on  the  skull,'  ought  I  think  to  be  well  considered.  Upon 
the  whole,  I  wish  the  father  has  not  met  with  his  match,  and 
that  he  may  not  be  as  equally  paired  with  a  son,  as  the  mother 
in  Virgil. 

 Crudelis  tu  quoque  mater : 

Crudelis  mater  magis  an  puer  improbus  ille  ? 

Improbus  ille  puer,  crudelis  tu  quoque  mater. — Ecl.  viii.  48 

O  barbarous  mother,  thirsting  to  destroy  ! 

More  cruel  was  the  mother  or  the  boy  ? 

Both,  both  alike  delighted  to  destroy, 

Th'  unnatural  mother,  and  the  ruthless  bo}-.  AVakton. 

Or,  like  the  crow  and  her  egg  in  the  Greek  proverb, 

KaKOV  KSpaKOS  KOLKbv  ooov. 

Bad  the  crow,  bad  the  egg. 


No.  189.]  SPECTATOR.  465 

I  must  here  take  notice  of  a  letter  which  I  have  received 
from  an  unknown  correspondent,  upon  the  subject  of  my  paper, 
upon  which  the  foregoing  letter  is  founded.^  The  writer  of  it 
seems  very  much  concerned,  lest  that  paper  should  seem  to  give 
encouragement  to  the  disobedience  of  children  towards  their 
parents ;  but  if  the  writer  of  it  will  take  the  pains  to  read  it  over 
again  attentively,  I  dare  say  his  apprehension  will  vanish.  Par- 
don and  reconciliation  are  all  the  penitent  daughter  requests,  and 
all  that  I  contend  for  in  her  behalf ;  and  in  this  case  I  may  use 
the  saying  of  an  eminent  wit,  who,  upon  some  great  men's  press- 
ing him  to  forgive  his  daughter  who  had  married  against  his 
consent,  told  them  he  could  refuse  nothing  to  their  instances,  but 
that  he  would  have  them  remember  there  was  difference  between 
Giving  and  Forgiving. 

I  must  confess,  in  all  controversies  between  parents  and  their 
children,  I  am  naturally  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  former.  The 
obligations  on  that  side  can  never  be  acquitted,  and  I  think  it  is 
one  of  the  greatest  reflections  upon  human  nature,  that  paternal 
instinct  should  be  a  stronger  motive  to  love  than  filial  gratitude ; 
that  the  receiving  of  favours  should  be  a  less  inducement  to 
good-will,  tenderness,  and  commiseration,  than  the  conferring  of 
them  ;  and  that  the  taking  care  of  any  person  should  endear  the 
child  or  dependant  more  to  the  parent  or  benefactor,  than  the 
parent  or  benefactor  to  the  child  or  dependant ;  yet  so  it  hap- 
pens, that  for  one  cruel  parent  we  meet  with  a  thousand  unduti- 
ful  children.  This  is,  indeed,  wonderfully  contrived  (as  I  have 
formerly  observed^)  for  the  support  of  every  living  species ;  but 
at  the  same  time  that  it  shews  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator,  it  dis- 
covers the  imperfection  and  degeneracy  of  the  creature. 

The  obedience  of  children  to  their  parents  is  the  basis  of  all 

^  V.  No.  181.— C.  2^0.120. 


VOL.    V. — 20* 


466  SPECTATOR.  [No.  191. 

government,  and  is  set^orth  as  the  measure  of  that  obedience 
which  we  owe  to  those  whom  Providence  hath  placed  over  us. 

It  is  Father  Le  Comte/  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  who  tells  us 
how  want  of  duty  in  this  particular  is  punished  among  the  Chi- 
nese, insomuch,  that  if  a  son  should  be  known  to  kill,  or  so  much 
as  to  strike,  his  father,  not  only  the  criminal,  but  his  whole  fami- 
ly, would  be  rooted  out ;  nay,  the  inhabitants  of  the  place  where 
he  lived  would  be  put  to  the  sword ;  nay,  the  place  itself  would 
be  razed  to  the  ground,  and  its  foundations  sown  with  salt :  for, 
say  they,  there  must  have  been  an  utter  depravation  of  manners 
in  that  clan  or  society  of  people,  who  could  have  bred  up  among 
them  so  horrible  an  offender.  To  this  I  shall  add  a  passage  out 
of  the  first  book  of  Herodotus.  That  historian,  in  his  account  of 
the  Persian  customs  and  religion,  tells  us,  it  is  their  opinion  that 
no  man  ever  killed  his  father,  or  that  it  is  possible  such  a  crime 
should  be  in  nature ;  but  that  if  any  thing  like  it  should  ever 
happen,  they  conclude  that  the  reputed  son  must  have  been  ille- 
gitimate, supposititious,  or  begotten  in  adultery.  Their  opinion 
in  this  particular  shews  sufficiently  what  a  notion  they  must  have 
had  of  undutifulness  in  general.  L. 


No.  191.   TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  9. 

 oZXov  ov€ipov. 

noM.  II.  ii.  6. 
Delusive  yision  of  the  night. 

Some  ludicrous  schoolmen  have  put  the  case,  that  if  an  ass 
were  placed  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  which  affected  his  senses 

1  V.  R  Le  Comte's  Tresent  State  of  China,  part.  2  ;  Lett,  to  the  Card. 
d'Estrees;  and  Guard,  in  Svo.  No.  96,  note. — C. 


No.  191.] 


SPECTATOR. 


467 


equally  on  each  side,  and  tempted  him  in  the  very  same  degree, 
whether  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to  eat  of  either.  They 
generally  determine  this  question  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  ass, 
who,  they  say,  would  starve  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  as  not  having 
a  single  grain  of  free-will  to  determine  him  more  to  the  one  than 
to  the  other.  The  bundle  of  hay  on  either  side  striking  his  sight 
and  smell  in  the  same  proportion,  would  keep  him  in  a  perpetual 
suspence,  like  the  two  magnets  which,  travellers  have  told  us,  are 
placed  one  of  them  in  the  roof,  and  the  other  in  the  floor,  of 
Mahomet's  burying-place  at  Mecca,  and  by  that  means,  say  they, 
pull  the  impostor's  iron  coffin  with  such  an  equal  attraction,  that 
it  hangs  in  the  air  between  both  of  them.^  As  for  the  ass's  be- 
haviour in  such  nice  circumstances,  whether  he  would  starve 
sooner  than  violate  his  neutrality  to  the  two  bundles  of  hay,  I 
shall  not  presume  to  determine ;  but  only  take  notice  of  the  con- 
duct of  our  own  species  in  the  same  perplexity.  When  a  man  has 
a  mind  to  venture  his  money  in  a  lottery,  every  figure  of  it  appears 
equally  alluring,  and  as  likely  to  succeed  as  any  of  its  fellows. 
They  all  of  them  have  the  same  pretensions  to  good  luck,  stand 
upon  the  same  foot  of  competition,  and  no  manner  of  reason  can 
be  given  why  a  man  should  prefer  one  to  the  other  before  the 
lottery  is  drawn.  In  this  case,  therefore,  caprice  very  often  acts 
in  the  place  of  reason,  and  forms  to  itself  some  groundless  imagi- 
nary motive,  where  real  and  substantial  ones  are  wanting.  I 
know  a  well-meaning  man  that  is  very  well  pleased  to  risk  his 
good  fortune  upon  the  number  1711,  because  it  is  the  year  of  our 
Lord.  I  am  acquainted  with  a  tacker  that  would  give  a  good 
deal  for  the  number  134.^    On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  told  of 

1  V.  Bayle's  Dictionary,  article  Mahomet. — C. 

2  In  the  year  1704  a  bill  was  brought  into  the  House  of  Commons 
against  occasional  conformity,  and  in  order  to  make  it  pass  through  the 
House  of  Lords,  it  was  proposed  to  tack  it  to  a  money  bill.  This  bill  oc- 
casioned warm  debates,  and  at  length  it  was  put  to  the  vote  :  when  134 


468  SPECTATOR.  [No.  191. 

a  certain  zealous  dissenter,  -who  being  a  great  enemy  to  popery, 
and  believing  that  bad  men  are  the  mogt  fortunate  in  this  world, 
will  lay  two  to  one  on  the  number  666  against  any  other  number^ 
because,  says  he,  it  is  the  number  of  the  beast. ^  Several  would 
prefer  the  number  12000  before  any  other,  as  it  is  the  number  of 
the  pounds  in  the  great  prize.  In  short,  some  are  pleased  to  find 
their  own  age  in  their  number;  some  that  they  have  got  a  number 
which  makes  a  pretty  appearance  in  the  cyphers ;  and  others, 
because  it  is  the  same  number  that  succeeded  in  the  last  lottery. 

Each  of  these,  upon  no  other  grounds,  thinks  he  stands  fairest 
for  the  great  lot,  and  that  he  is  possessed  of  what  may  not  be 
improperly  called  the  Golden  Number.^ 

These  principles  of  election  are  the  pastimes  and  extravagan- 
cies of  human  reason,  which  is  of  so  busy  a  nature,  that  it  will  be 
exerting  itself  in  the  meanest  trifles,  and  working  even  when  it 
wants  materials.  The  wisest  of  men  are  sometimes  actuated  ^  by 
such  unaccountable  motives,  as  the  life  of  the  fool  and  the  super- 
stitious is  guided  by  nothing  else. 

I  am  surprised  that  none  of  the  fortune-tellers,  or,  as  the 
French  call  them,  the  Diseitrs  de  bonne  Aventure^  who  publish 
their  bills  in  every  quarter  of  the  town,  have  ^  turned  our  lotteries 
to  their  advantage  :  did  any  of  them  set  up  for  a  caster  of  fortu- 
nate figures,  what  might  he  not  get  by  his  pretended  discoveries 
and  predictions  ? 

I  remember  among  the  advertisements  in  the  Postboy  of 
September  the  27th,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  following  one  : 

were  for  tacking :  but  a  large  majority  being  against  it,  the  motion  was 
overruled  and  the  bill  miscarried, — C. 

^  In  the  Revelations,  ch.  xiii.  v.  18. — C. 

^  Alluding  to  the  number  so  called  in  the  calender. — C. 

^  Tickell,  Chalmers  and  some  others  read,  acted — an  evident  mis- 
print.— G. 

*  Some  editions  read  'have  not'  though  Tickell  rejects  the  'not.' — G. 


No.  191.] 


SPECTATOR . 


469 


"  This  is  to  give  noticej  that  ten  shillings  over  and  above  the 
market  price  will  be  given  for  the  ticket  in,  the  150,000  I,  lottery, 
No.  132,  by  Nath.  Cliff,  at  the  Bible  and  Three  Crowns  in 
Cheapside." 

This  advertisement  has  given  great  matter  of  speculation  to 
Coffee-house  theorists.  Mr.  Cliff's  principles  and  conversation 
have  been  canvassed  upon  this  occasion,  and  various  conjectures 
made  why  he  should  thus  set  his  heart  upon  No.  1 32.  I  have 
examined  all  the  powers  in  those  numbers,  broken  them  into 
fractions,  extracted  the  square  and  cube  root,  divided  and  multi- 
plied them  all  ways,  but  could  not  arrive  at  the  secret  till  about 
three  days  ago,  when  I  received  the  following  letter  from  an  un- 
known hand,  by  which  I  find  that  Mr.  Nathaniel  Cliff  is  only  the 
agent,  and  not  the  principal,  in  this  advertisement. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  I  AM  the  person  that  lately  advertised  I  would  give  ten 
shillings  more  than  the  current  price  for  the  ticket  No.  132,  in 
the  lottery  now  drawing ;  which  is  a  secret  I  have  communicated 
to  some  friends,  who  rally  me  incessantly  upon  that  account. 
You  must  know  I  have  but  one  ticket,  for  which  reason,  and  a 
certain  dream  I  have  lately  had  more  than  once,  I  was  resolved 
it  should  be  the  number  I  most  approved.  I  am  so  positive  I 
have  pitched  upon  the  great  lot,  that  I  could  almost  lay  all  I  am 
worth  of  it.  My  visions  are  so  frequent  and  strong  upon  this 
occasion,  that  I  have  not  only  possessed  the  lot,  but  disposed  of 
the  money  which  in  all  probability  it  will  sell  for.  This  morning, 
in  particular,  I  set  up  an  equipage  which  I  look  upon  to  be  the 
gayest  in  the  town ;  the  liveries  are  very  rich,  but  not  gaudy.  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  see  a  speculation  or  two  upon  lottery  sub- 


470 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  191. 


jects,  in  which  you  would  oblige  all  people  concerned,  and  in 
particular 

"  Your  most  humble  Servant, 

George  Gosling." 

"  P.  S.  Dear  Spec,  if  I  get  the  12000  pound,  I'll  make  thee 
a  handsome  present." 

After  having  wished  my  correspondent  good  luck,  and  thank- 
ed him  for  his  intended  kindness,  I  shall  for  this  time  dismiss 
the  subject  of  the  lottery,  and  only  observe,  that  the  greatest 
part  of  mankind  are  in  some  degree  guilty  of  my  friend  Gosling's 
extravagance.  We  are  apt  to  rely  upon  future  prospects,  and 
become  really  expensive  while  we  are  only  rich  in  possibility. 
We  live  up  to  our  expectations,  not  to  our  possessions,  and  make 
a  figure  proportionable  to  what  we  may  be,  not  what  we  are.  We 
out-run  our  present  income,  as  not  doubting  to  disburse  ^  ourselves 
out  of  the  profits  of  some  future  place,  project,  or  reversion,  that 
we  have  in  view.  It  is  through  this  temper  of  mind,  which  is  so 
common  among  us,  that  we  see  tradesmen  break,  who  have  met 
with  no  misfortunes  in  their  business ;  and  men  of  estates  reduced 
to  poverty,  who  have  never  suffered  from  losses  or  repairs,  tenants, 
taxes,  or  law-suits.  In  short,  it  is  this  foolish  sanguine  temper, 
this  depending  upon  contingent  futurities,  that  occasions  romantic 
generosity,  chimerical  grandeur,  senseless  ostentation,  and  gene- 
rally ends  in  beggary  and  ruin.  The  man  who  will  live  above 
his  present  circumstances,  is  in  great  danger  of  living  in  a  little 
time  much  beneath  them ;  or,  as  the  Italian  proverb  runs,  The 
Man  who  lives  by  Hope  will  die  by  Hunger. 

It  should  be  an  indispensable  rule  in  life,  to  contract  our  de- 
sires to  our  present  condition  ;  and  whatever  may  be  our  expec- 
tations, to  live  within  the  compass  of  what  we  actually  possess. 

1  In  the  sense  of  reimburse. — G. 


No.  195.] 


SPECTATOR. 


471 


It  will  be  time  enough  to  enjoy  an  estate  when  it  comes  into  our 
hands ;  but  if  we  anticipate  our  good  fortune,  we  shall  lose  the 
pleasure  of  it  when  it  arrives,  and  may  possibly  never  possess 
what  we  have  so  foolishly  counted  upon.  L. 


No.  195.    SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  13. 

Ou5*  '6(Toj/  iu  /j.aXdxi}T^  Ka\  oxr^oSeAo)  jULey*  6p€iap. 

Hes.  Oper.  et  Dier.  i.  40. 

Fools  not  to  know  that  half  exceeds  the  whole, 
Nor  the  great  blessings  of  a  frugal  board. 

There  is  a  story  in  the  Arabian  Nights  Tales,  of  a  king  who 
had  long  languished  under  an  ill  habit  of  body,  and  had  taken 
abundance  of  remedies  to  no  purpose.  At  length,  says  the  fable, 
a  physician  cured  him  by  the  following  method.  He  took  an 
hollow  ball  of  wood,  and  filled  it  with  several  drugs ;  after  which 
he  closed  it  up  so  artificially  that  nothing  appeared.  He  likewise 
took  a  mall,  and  after  having  hollowed  the  handle,  and  that  part 
which  strikes  the  ball,  he  enclosed  in  them  several  drugs  after 
the  same  manner  as  in  the  ball  itself.  He  then  ordered  the  sul- 
tan, who  was  his  patient,  to  exercise  himself  early  in  the  morn- 
ing with  these  rightly  prepared  instruments,  till  such  time  as  he 
should  sweat ;  when,  as  the  story  goes,  the  virtue  of  the  medica- 
ments perspiring  through  the  wood,  had  so  good  an  influence  on 
the  sultan's  constitution,  that  they  cured  him  of  an  indisposition 
which  all  the  compositions  he  had  taken  inwardly  had  not  been 
able  to  remove.  This  eastern  allegory  is  finely  contrived  to  shew 
us  how  beneficial  bodily  labour  is  to  health,  and  that  exercise  is 
the  most  effectual  physic.    I  have  described,  in  my  hundred  and 


472 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  195. 


fifteenth  paper,  from  the  general  structure  and  mechanism  of  an 
human  body,  how  absolutely  necessary  exercise  is  for  its  preser- 
vation :  I  shall  in  this  place  recommend  another  great  preserva- 
tive of  health,  which  in  many  cases  produces  the  same  effects  as 
exercise,  and  may,  in  some  measure,  supply  its  place,  where  op- 
portunities of  exercise  are  wanting.  The  preservative  I  am 
speaking  of  is  temperance,  which  has  those  particular  advan- 
tages above  all  other  means  of  health,  that  it  may  be  practised  by 
all  ranks  and  conditions,  at  any  season,  or  in  any  place.  It  is  a 
kind  of  regimen  into  which  every  man  may  put  himself,  without 
interruption  to  business,  expence  of  money,  or  loss  of  time.  If 
exercise  throws  off  all  superfluities,  temperance  prevents  them ; 
if  exercise  clears  the  vessels,  temperance  neither  satiates  nor 
overstrains  them ;  if  exercise  raises  proper  ferments  in  the 
humours,  and  promotes  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  temperance 
gives  nature  her  full  play,  and  enables  her  to  exert  herself  in  all 
her  force  and  vigour ;  if  exercise  dissipates  a  growing  distemper, 
temperance  starves  it. 

Physic,  for  the  most  part,  is  nothing  else  but  the  substitute 
of  exercise  or  temperance.  Medicines  are,  indeed,  absolutely 
necessary  in  acute  distempers,  that  cannot  wait  the  slow  op- 
erations of  these  two  great  instruments  of  health ;  but  did  men 
live  in  an  habitual  course  of  exercise  and  temperance,  there  would 
be  but  little  occasion  for  them.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  those 
parts  of  the  world  are  the  most  healthy,  where  they  subsist  by 
the  chase ;  and  that  men  lived  longest  when  their  lives  were  em- 
ployed in  hunting,  and  when  they  had  little  food  besides  what 
they  caught.  Blistering,  cupping,  bleeding,  are  seldom  of  use 
but  to  the  idle  and  intemperate ;  as  all  those  inward  applications 
which  are  so  much  in  practice  among  us,  are  for  the  most  part 
nothing  else  but  expedients  to  make  luxury  consistent  with 
health.     The  apothecary  is  perpetually  employed  in  countermin- 


No.  195.] 


SPECTATOR. 


473 


ing  the  cook  and  the  vintner.  It  is  said  of  Diogenes,  that  meet- 
ing a  young  man  who  was  going  to  a  feast,  he  took  him  up  in  the 
street,  and  carried  him  home  to  his  friends,  as  one  who  was  run- 
ning into  imminent  danger,  had  not  he  prevented  him.^  What 
would  that  philosopher  have  said,  had  he  been  present  at  the 
gluttony  of  a  modern  meal  ?  Would  not  he  have  thought  the 
master  of  a  family  mad,  and  have  begged  his  servants  to  tie  down 
his  hands,  had  he  seen  him  devour  fowl,  fish,  and  flesh ;  swallow 
oil  and  vinegar,  wines  and  spices;  throw  down  sallads  of  twen- 
ty different  herbs,  sauces  of  an  hundred  ingredients,  confections 
and  fruits  of  numberless  sweets  and  flavours  ?  What  unnatural 
motions  and  counter-ferments  must  such  a  medly  of  intemperance 
produce  in  the  body  ?  For  my  part,  when  I  behold  a  fashiona- 
ble table  set  out  in  all  its  magnificence,  I  fancy  that  I  see  gouts 
and  dropsies,  fevers  and  lethargies,  with  other  innumerable  dis- 
tempers lying  in  ambuscade  among  the  dishes. 

Nature  delights  in  the  most  plain  and  simple  diet.  Every 
animal,  but  man,  keeps  to  one  dish.  Herbs  are  the  food  of  this 
species,  fish  of  that,  and  flesh  of  a  third.  Man  falls  upon  every 
thing  that  comes  in  his  way;  not  the  smallest  fruit  or  excres- 
cence of  the  earth,  scarce  a  berry  or  a  mushroom,  can  escape 
him. 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  any  determinate  rule  for  tem- 
perance, because  what  is  luxury  in  one,  may  be  temp^erance  in 
another  ;  but  there  are  few  that  have  lived  anytime  in  the  world, 
who  are  not  judges  of  their  own  constitutions,  so  far  as  to  know 
what  kinds  and  what  proportions  of  food  do  best  agree  with  them. 
Were  I  to  consider  my  readers  as  my  patients,  and  to  prescribe 
such  a  kind  of  temperance  as  is  accommodated  to  all  persons,  and 
such  as  is  particularly  suitable  to  our  climate  and  way  of  living, 
I  would  copy  the  following  rules  of  a  very  eminent  physician. 

^  Diog.  Laert.  Yitae  Philosoph.    Lib.  vi.  cli.  2,  v.  6. — C. 


474 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  195. 


*  Make  your  whole  repast  out  of  one  dish.  If  you  indi^lge  in  a 
second,  avoid  drinking  anything  strong  'till  you  have  finished 
your  meal ;  at  the  same  time  abstain  from  all  sauces,  or  at  least 
such  as  are  not  the  most  plain  and  simple.'  A  man  could  not 
well  be  guilty  of  gluttony,  if  he  stuck  to  these  few  obvious  and 
easy  rules.  In  the  first  case  there  would  be  no  variety  of  tastes 
to  solicit  his  palate,  and  occasion  excess  ;  nor  in  the  second,  any 
artificial  provocatives  to  relieve  satiety,  and  create  a  false  appe- 
tite. Were  I  to  prescribe  a  rule  for  drinking,  it  should  be  form- 
ed upon  a  saying  quoted  by  Sir  William  Temple ;  '  The  first 
glass  for  myself,  the  second  for  my  friends,  the  third  for  good 
humour,  and  the  fourth  for  mine  enemies.'  But  because  it  is 
impossible  for  one  who  lives  in  the  world  to  diet  himself  always 
in  so  philosophical  a  manner,  I  think  every  man  should  have  his 
days  of  abstinence,  according  as  his  constitution  will  permit. 
These  are  great  reliefs  to  nature,  as  they  qualify  her  for  strug- 
gling with  hunger  and  thirst,  whenever  any  distemper,  or  duty  of 
life,  may  put  her  upon  such  difficulties  :  and  at  the  same  time 
give  her  an  opportunity  of  extricating  herself  from  her  oppres- 
sions, and  recovering  the  several  tones  and  springs  of  her  dis- 
tended vessels.  Besides  that  abstinence,  well  timed,  often  kills 
a  sickness  in  embryo,  and  destroys  the  first  seeds  of  an  indisposi- 
tion. It  is  observed  by  two  or  three  ancient  authors,  that  Soc- 
rates, notwithstanding  he  lived  in  Athens  during  the  great 
plague,  which  has  made  so  much  noise  through  all  ages,  and  has 
been  celebrated  at  different  times  by  such  eminent  hands  ;  I  say, 
notwithstanding  that  he  lived  in  the  time  of  this  devouring  pesti- 
lence, he  never  caught  the  least  infection,  which  those  writers 
unanimously  ascribe  to  that  uninterrupted  temperance  which  he 
always  observed.^ 

1  V.  Diog.  Laert.  in  Yita  Socratis.  Elian  in  Var.  Hist.  lib.  13,  cap. 
27.— C. 


No.  195.] 


SPECTATOR. 


475 


And  here  I  cannot  but  mention  an  observation  which  I  have 
often  made,  upon  reading  the  lives  of  the  philoshphers,  and  com- 
paring them  with  any  series  of  kings  or  great  men  of  the  same 
number.  If  we  consider  these  ancient  sages,  a  great  part  of 
whose  philosophy  consisted  in  a  temperate  and  abstemious  course 
of  life,  one  would  think  the  life  of  a  philosopher  and  the  life  of  a 
man  were  of  two  different  dates.  For  we  find  that  the  general- 
ity of  these  wise  men  were  nearer  an  hundred  than  sixty  years 
of  age  at  the  time  of  their  respective  deaths.  But  the  most  re- 
markable instance  of  the  efficacy  of  temperance  towards  the  pro- 
curing of  long  life,  is  what  we  meet  with  in  a  little  book  publish- 
ed by  Lewis  Cornaro,  the  Venetian;  which  I  the  rather  men- 
tion, because  it  is  of  undoubted  credit,  as  the  late  Venetian  am- 
bassador, who  was  of  the  same  family,  attested  more  than  once  in 
conversation,  when  he  resided  in  England.  Cornaro,  who  was 
the  author  of  the  little  treatise  I  am  mentioning,  was  of  an  infirm 
constitution,  till  about  forty,  when  by  obstinately  persisting  in 
an  exact  course  of  temperance,  he  recovered  a  perfect  state  of 
health ;  insomuch  that  at  fourscore  he  published  his  book,  which 
has  been  translated  into  English  under  the  title  of  ^  Sure  and 
certain  Methods  of  attaining  a  long  and  healthy  Life.'  He  lived 
to  give  a  third  or  fourth  edition  of  it ;  and  after  having  passed 
his  hundredth  year,  died  without  pain  or  agony,  and  like  one 
who  falls  asleep.  The  treatise  I  mention  has  been  taken  notice 
of  by  several  eminent  authors,  and  is  written  with  such  a  spirit 
of  cheerfulness,  religion,  and  good  sense,  as  are  the  natural  con- 
comitants of  temperance  and  sobriety.  The  mixture  of  the  old 
man  in  it  is  rather  a  recommendation  than  a  discredit  to  it. 

Having  designed  this  paper  as  the  sequel  to  that  upon  exer- 
cise, I  have  not  here  considered  temperance  as  it  is  a  moral 
virtue,  which  I  shall  make  the  subject  of  a  future  speculation, 
but  only  as  it  is  the  means  of  health.  L. 


476 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  198. 


No.  198.    WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  17. 

^  Cerv(e  luporum  prseda  rapacium 
fSectamur  ultro,  qaos  opimus 
Fallere  ct  effugere  est  triumphus. 

HoR.  4.  Od.  iv.  50. 
"We  like  the  stag,  the  brinded  wolf  provoke, 
And,  when  retreat  is  victory, 
Kush  on,  though  sure  to  die. 

Anon. 

There  is  a  species  of  women,  whom  I  shall  distinguish  by  the 
name  of  Salamanders.  Now  a  salamander  is  a  kind  of  heroine  in 
chastity,  that  treads  upon  fire,  and  lives  in  the  midst  of  flames 
without  being  hurt.  A  salamander  kaows  no  distinction  of  sex 
in  those  she  converses  with,  grows  familiar  with  a  stranger  at 
first  sight,  and  is  not  so  narrow-spirited  as  to  observe  whether 
the  person  she  talks  to,  be  in  breeches  or  in  petticoats.  She  ad- 
mits a  male  visitant  to  her  bed-side,  plays  with  him  a  whole 
afternoon  at  picquette,  walks  with  him  two  or  three  hours  by 
moon-light ;  and  is  extremely  scandalized  at  the  unreasonable- 
ness of  an  husband,  or  the  severity  of  a  parent,  that  would  debar 
the  sex  from  such  innocent  liberties.  Your  salamander  is  there- 
fore a  perpetual  declaimer  against  jealousy,  an  admirer  of  the 
French  good-breeding,  and  a  great  stickler  for  freedom  in  con- 
versation. In  short,  the  salamander  lives  in  an  invincible  state 
of  simplicity  and  innocence  :  her  constitution  is  preserved  in  a 
kind  of  natural  frost ;  she  wonders  what  people  mean  by  tempta- 
tions, and  defies  mankind  to  do  their  worst.  Her  chastity  is 
engaged  in  a  constant  ordeal  or  fiery  trial :  (like  good  queen 
Emma)'^  the  pretty  innocent  walks  blindfold  among  burning 
plow-shares,  without  being  scorched  or  singed  by  them. 

^  Cervce  for  Cervi^  to  adapt  it  to  the  subject  of  the  paper. — G. 
^  Emma,  mother  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  was  subjected  to  this  trial, 
and  came  off  unhurt.    V.  Bayle,  a  favorite  authority  with  Addison. — G. 


No.  198.] 


SPECTATOR. 


477 


It  is  not  therefore  for  the  use  of  the  salamander,  whether  in 
a  married  or  single  state  of  life,  that  I  design  the  following 
paper ;  but  for  such  females  only  as  are  made  of  flesh  and  blood, 
and  find  themselves  subject  to  human  frailties. 

As  for  this  part  of  the  fair  sex,  who  are  not  of  the  salamander 
kind,  I  would  most  earnestly  advise  them  to  observe  a  quite  dif- 
ferent conduct  in  their  behaviour  ;  and  to  avoid  as  much  as  possi- 
ble what  religion  calls  temptations^  and  the  world  opportunities. 
Did  they  but  know  how  many  thousands  of  their  sex  have  been 
gradually  betrayed  from  innocent  freedoms  to  ruin  and  infamy ; 
and  how  many  millions  of  ours  have  begun  with  flatteries,  pro- 
testations, and  endearments,  but  ended  with  reproaches,  perjury, 
and  perfidiousness  :  they  would  shun  like  death  the  very  first 
approaches  of  one  that  might  lead  them  into  inextricable  laby- 
rinths of  guilt  and  misery.  I  must  so  far  give  up  the  cause  of 
the  male  world,  as  to  exhort  the  female  sex  in  the  language  of 
Chamont  in  the  Orphan, 

Trust  not  a  man,  we  are  by  nature  false, 
Dissembling,  subtle,  cruel,  and  unconstant ; 
When  a  man  talks  of  love,  with  caution  trust  him  ; 
But  if  he  swears,  he'll  certainly  deceive  thee. 

I  might  very  much  enlarge  upon  this  subject,  but  shall  con- 
clude it  with  a  story  which  I  lately  heard  from  one  of  our  Spanish 
officers,*  and  which  may  shew  the  danger  a  woman  incurs  by  too 
great  familiarities  with  a  male  companion. 

An  inhabitant  of  the  kingdom  of  Castile,  being  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  prudence,  and  of  a  grave  composed  behaviour, 
determined  about  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  age  to  enter  upon  wed- 
lock. In  order  to  make  himself  easy  in  it,  he  cast  his  eye  upon 
a  young  woman  who  had  nothing  to  recommend  her  but  her  beau- 

^  i.  e.,  one  who  had  served  in  Spain  in  the  time  of  the  war  of  the  suc- 
cession.— G. 


478 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  198. 


ty  and  her  education,  her  parents  having  been  reduced  to  great 
poverty  by  the  wars  which  for  some  years  have  laid  that  whole 
country  v^aste.  The  Castilian  having  made  his  addresses  to  her 
and  married  her,  they  lived  together  in  perfect  happiness  for 
some  time ;  when  at  length  the  husband's  affairs  made  it  neces- 
sary for  him  to  take  a  voyage  to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  where  a 
great  part  of  his  estate  lay.  The  wife  loved  him  too  tenderly  to 
be  left  behind  him.  They  had  not  been  a  shipboard  above  a  day, 
when  they  unluckily  fell  into  the  hands  of  an  Algerine  pirate, 
who  carried  the  whole  company  on  shore,  and  made  them  slaves. 
The  Castilian  and  his  wife  had  the  comfort  to  be  under  the  same 
master ;  who  seeing  how  dearly  they  loved  one  another,  and 
gasped  after  their  liberty,  demanded  a  most  exorbitant  price  for 
their  ransom.  The  Castilian,  though  he  would  rather  have  died 
in  slavery  himself  than  have  paid  such  a  sum  as  he  found  would 
go  near  to  ruin  him,  was  so  moved  with  compassion  towards  his  wife, 
that  he  sent  repeated  orders  to  his  friend  in  Spain  (who  happened 
to  be  his  next  relation)  to  sell  his  estate,  and  transmit  the  money 
to  him.  His  friend,  hoping  that  the  terms  of  his  ransom  might 
be  made  more  reasonable,  and  unwilling  to  sell  an  estate  which 
he  himself  had  some  prospect  of  inheriting,  formed  so  many 
delays,  that  three  whole  years  passed  away  without  any  thing 
being  done  for  the  setting  of  them  at  liberty. 

There  happened  to  live  a  French  renegade  in  the  same  place 
where  the  Castilian  and  his  wife  were  kept  prisoners.  As  this 
fellow  had  in  him  all  the  vivacity  of  his  nation,  he  often  enter- 
tained the  captives  with  accounts  of  his  own  adventures  ;  to  which 
he  sometimes  added  a  song  or  a  dance,  or  some  other  piece  of 
mirth,  to  divert  them  during  their  confinement.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  manners  of  the  Algerines  enabled  him  likewise  to  do 
them  several  good  ofiices.  The  Castilian,  as  he  was  one  day  in 
conversation  with  this  renegade,  discovered  to  him  the  negligence 


No.  198.] 


SPECTATOR. 


479 


and  treachery  of  his  correspondent  in  Castile^  and  at  the  same 
time  asked  his  advice  how  he  should  behave  himself  in  that 
exigency :  he  further  told  the  renegado,  that  he  found  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  raise  the  money,  unless  he  himself  might 
go  over  to  dispose  of  his  estate.  The  renegado,  after  having  rep- 
resented to  him  that  his  Algerine  master  would  never  consent 
to  his  release  upon  such  a  pretence,  at  length  contrived  a  method 
for  the  Castilian  to  make  his  escape  in  the  habit  of  a  seaman. 
The  Castilian  succeeded  in  his  attempt ;  and  having  sold  his  es- 
tate, being  afraid  lest  the  money  should  miscarry  by  the  way,  and 
determining  to  perish  with  it  rather  than  lose  what  was  much 
dearer  to  him  than  his  life,  he  returned  himself  in  a  little  vessel 
that  was  going  to  Algiers.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  joy 
he  felt  upon  this  occasion,  when  he  considered  that  he  should 
soon  see  the  wife  whom  he  so  much  loved,  and  endear  himself 
more  to  her  by  this  uncommon  piece  of  generosity. 

The  renegado,  during  the  husband's  absence,  so  insinuated  him- 
self into  the  graces  of  his  young  wife,  and  so  turned  her  head 
with  stories  of  gallantry,  that  she  quickly  thought  him  the  finest 
gentleman  she  had  ever  conversed  with.  To  be  brief,  her  mind 
was  quite  alienated  from  the  honest  Castilian,  whom  she  was  taught 
to  look  upon  as  a  formal  old  fellow  unworthy  the  possession  of  so 
charming  a  creature.  She  had  been  instructed  by  the  renegado 
how  to  manage  herself  upon  his  arrival ;  so  that  she  received  him 
with  an  appearance  of  the  utmost  love  and  gratitude,  and  at 
length  persuaded  him  to  trust  their  common  friend  the  renegado 
with  the  money  he  had  brought  over  for  their  ransom  ;  as  not 
questioning  but  he  would  beat  down  the  terms  of  it,  and  negoti- 
ate the  afi'air  more  to  their  advantage  than  they  themselves  could 
do.  The  good  man  admired  her  prudence  and  followed  her  ad- 
vice. I  wish  I  could  conceal  the  sequel  of  this  story,  but  since  I 
cannot,  I  shall  dispatch  it  in  as  few  words  as  possible.    The  Cas- 


480 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  201. 


tilian  having  slept  longer  than  ordinary  the  next  morning,  upon 
his  awaking  found  his  wife  had  left  him  :  he  immediately  rose  and 
inquired  after  her,  but  was  told  that  she  was  seen  with  the  rene- 
gado  about  break  of  day.  In  a  word,  her  lover  having  got  all 
things  ready  for  their  departure,  they  soon  made  their  escape  out 
of  the  territories  of  Algiers,  carried  away  the  money,  and  left 
the  Castilian  in  captivity  :  who  partly  through  the  cruel  treatment 
of  the  incensed  Algerine  his  master,  and  partly  through  the  un- 
kind usage  of  his  unfaithful  wife,  died  some  few  months  after. 

L. 


No.  201.    SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  20. 

Religentem  esse  oportet,  Eeligiosum  nefas. 

Incerti  Autoris  aptjd  Aul.  Gell. 
A  man  should  be  religious,  not  superstitious. 

It  is  of  the  last  importance  to  season  the  passions  of  a  child 
with  devotion,  which  seldom  dies  in  a  mind  that  has  received  an 
early  tincture  of  it.  Though  it  may  seem  extinguished  for  a 
while  by  the  cares  of  the  world,  the  heats  of  youth,  or  the  allure- 
ments of  vice,  it  generally  breaks  out  and  discovers  itself  again 
as  soon  as  discretion,  consideration,  age,  or  misfortunes,  have 
brought  the  man  to  himself.  The  fire  may  be  covered  and  over- 
laid, but  cannot  be  entirely  quenched  and  smothered. 

A  state  of  temperance,  sobriety,  and  justice,  without  devotion, 
is  a  cold,  lifeless,  insipid  condition  of  virtue ;  and  is  rather  to  be 
styled  philosophy  than  religion.  Devotion  opens  the  mind  to 
great  conceptions,  and  fills  it  with  more  sublime  ideas  than  any 
that  are  to  be  met  with  in  the  most  exalted  science ;  and  at  the 
same  time  warms  and  agitates  the  soul  more  than  sensual  plea- 
sure. 


No.  201.] 


SPECTATOR. 


481 


It  has  been  observed  by  some  writers,  that  man  is  more  dis- 
tinguished from  the  animal  world  b}^  devotion  than  by  reason,  as 
several  brute  creatures  discover  in  their  actions  something  like  a 
faint  glimmering  of  reason,  though  they  betray  in  no  single  cir- 
cumstance of  their  behaviour  any  thing  that  bears  the  least  affin- 
ity to  devotion.  It  is  certain,  the  propensity  of  the  mind  to  re- 
ligious worship,  the  natural  tendency  of  the  soul  to  fly  to  some 
superior  Being  for  succour  in  dangers  and  distresses,  the  gratitude 
to  an  invisible  Superintendent  which  rises  in  us  upon  receiving 
any  extraordinary  and  unexpected  good  fortune,  the  acts  of  love 
and  admiration  with  which  the  thoughts  of  men  are  so  wonder- 
fully transported  in  meditating  upon  the  Divine  Perfections,  and 
the  universal  concurrence  of  all  the  nations  under  heaven  in  the 
great  article  of  adoration,  plainly  shew  that  devotion,  or  religious 
worship,  must  be  the  effect  of  a  tradition  from  some  first  founder 
of  mankind,  or  that  it  is  conformable  to  the  natural  light  of 
reason,  or  that  it  proceeds  from  an  instinct  implanted  in  the  soul 
itself.  For  my  part,  I  look  upon  all  these  to  be  the  concurrent 
causes  ;  but  whichever  of  them  shall  be  assigned  as  the  principle 
of  divine  worship,  it  manifestly  points  to  a  Supreme  Being  as 
the  first  author  of  it. 

I  may  take  some  other  opportunity  of  considering  those  par- 
ticular forms  and  methods  of  devotion  which  are  taught  us  by 
Christianity ;  but  shall  here  observe  into  what  errors  even  this 
divine  principle  may  sometimes  lead  us,  when  it  is  not  moder- 
ated by  that  right  reason  which  was  given  us  as  the  guide  of  all 
our  actions. 

The  two  great  errors  into  which  a  mistaken  devotion  may 
betray  us,  are  enthusiasm  and  superstition. 

There  is  not  a  more  melancholy  object  than  a  man  who  has 
his  head  turned  with  religious  enthusiasm.  A  person  that  is 
crazed,  though  with  pride  or  malice,  is  a  sight  very  mortifying  to 
VOL.    v. — 21 


482 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  201 


human  nature ;  but  when  the  distemper  arises  from  any  indis 
creet  fervours  of  devotion,  or  too  intense  an  application  of  the 
mind  to  its  mistaken  duties,  it  deserves  our  compassion  in  a  more 
particular  manner.  We  may,  however,  learn  this  lesson  from  it, 
that  since  devotion  itself  (which  one  would  be  apt  to  think  could 
not  be  too  warm)  may  disorder  the  mind,  unless  its  heats  are 
tempered  with  caution  and  prudence,  we  should  be  particularly 
careful  to  keep  our  reason  as  cool  as  possible,  and  to  guard  our- 
selves in  all  parts  of  life  against  the  influence  of  passion,  imagi- 
nation, and  constitution. 

Devotion,  when  it  does  not  lie  under  the  check  of  reason,  is 
very  apt  to  degenerate  into  enthusiasm.  When  the  mind  finds 
herself  very  much  inflamed  with  her  devotions,  she  is  too  much 
inclined  to  think  they  are  not  of  her  own  kindling,  but  blown  up 
by  something  divine  within  her.  If  she  indulges  this  thought 
too  far,  and  humours  the  growing  passion,  she  at  last  flings  her- 
self into  imaginary  raptures  and  ecstacies  ;  and  when  once  she 
fancies  herself  under  the  influence  of  a  divine  impulse,  it  is  no 
wonder  if  she  slights  human  ordinances,  and  refuses  to  comply 
with  any  established  form  of  religion,  as  thinking  herself  directed 
by  a  much  superior  guide. 

■  As  enthusiasm  is  a  kind  of  excess  in  devotion,  superstition  is 
the  excess,  not  only  of  devotion,  but  of  religion  in  general ;  ac- 
cording to  an  old  heathen  saying,  quoted  by  Aulus  Gellius^  Reli- 
gentem  esse  oportet^  Religiosvm  nefas  ;  {^)  A  man  should  be 
religious  and  not  superstitious:  for  as  that  author  tells  us,  Nigi- 
dius  observed  upon  this  passage,  that  the  Latin  words  which 
terminated  in  osus  generally  imply  vicious  characters,  and  the 
having  of  any  quality  to  an  excess. 

An  enthusiast  in  religion  is  like  an  obstinate  clown,  a  super- 
stitious man  like  an  insipid  courtier.    Enthusiasm  has  something 
^  Noctes  Attica e.    Lib,  iv.  ch.  9. — L. 


No.  201.] 


SPECTATOR. 


483 


in  it  of  madness,  superstition  of  folly.  Most  of  the  sects  that 
fall  short  of  the  church  of  England,  have  in  them  strong  tinc- 
tures of  enthusiasm,  as  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  is  one  huge 
overgrown  body  of  childish  and  idle  superstitions. 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church  seems  indeed  irrecoverably  lost 
in  this  particular.  If  an  absurd  dress  or  behaviour  be  intro- 
duced in  the  world,  it  will  soon  be  found  out  and  discarded  :  on 
the  contrary,  a  habit  or  ceremony,  though  never  so  ridiculous, 
which  has  taken  sanctuary  in  the  church,  sticks  in  it  for  ever.  A 
Gothic  Bishop,  perhaps,  thought  it  proper  to  repeat  such  a  form 
in  such  particular  shoes  or  slippers  ;  another  fancied  it  would  be 
very  decent  if  such  a  part  of  public  devotions  were  performed 
with  a  mitre  on  his  head,  and  a  crosier  in  his  hand  :  to  this  a 
brother  Vandal,  as  wise  as  the  others,  adds  an  antic  dress,  which 
he  conceived  would  allude  very  aptly  to  such  and  such  mysteries, 
till  by  degrees  the  whole  office  has  degenerated  into  an  empty 
show. 

Their  successors  see  the  vanity  and  inconvenience  of  these 
ceremonies ;  but  instead  of  reforming,  perhaps  add  others  which 
they  think  more  significant,  and  which  take  possession  in  the 
same  manner,  and  are  never  to  be  driven  out  after  they  have  been 
once  admitted.  I  have  seen  the  pope  officiate  at  St.  Peter's, 
where,  for  two  hours  together,  he  was  busied  in  putting  on  or  off 
his  different  accoutrements,  according  to  the  different  parts  he  was 
to  act  in  them. 

Nothing  is  so  glorious  in  the  eyes  of  mankind,  and  ornamental 
to  human  nature,  setting  aside  the  infinite  advantages  which  arise 
from  it,  as  a  strong  steady  masculine  piety ;  but  enthusiasm  and 
superstition  are  the  weaknesses  of  human  reason,  that  expose  us 
to  the  scorn  and  derision  of  infidels,  and  sink  us  even  below  the 
beasts  that  perish. 


484 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  203. 


Idolatry  may  be  looked  upon  as  another  error  arising  from 
mistaken  devotion;  but,  because  reflections  on  that  subject 
would  be  of  no  use  to  an  English  reader,  I  shall  not  enlarge  upon  it. 

L. 


No.  203.    TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  23. 

 Phoebe  pater,  si  das  hujus  mihi  nominis  usum, 

Nee  falsa  Clymene  culpam  sub  imagine  celat ; 
Pignora  da,  genitor  

Ovid.  Met.  li.  36. 
Illustrious  parent !  since  you  don^t  despise 
A  parent's  name,  some  certain  token  give, 
That  I  may  Clymene's  proud  boast  believe, 
No  longer  under  false  reproaches  grieve. 

Addison. 

There  is  a  loose  tribe  of  men  whom  I  have  not  yet  taken 
notice  of,  that  ramble  into  all  the  corners  of  this  great  city,  in 
order  to  seduce  such  unfortunate  females  as  fall  into  their  walks. 
These  abandoned  profligates  raise  up  issue  in  every  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  very  often,  for  a  valuable  consideration,  father  it  upon 
the  church-warden.  By  this  means  there  are  several  married 
men  who  have  a  little  family  in  most  of  the  parishes  of  London 
and  Westminster,  and  several  bachelors  who  are  undone  by  a 
charge  of  children. 

When  a  man  once  gives  himself  this  liberty  of  preying  at 
large,  and  living  upon  the  common,  he  finds  so  much  game  in  a 
populous  city,  that  it  is  surprising  to  consider  the  numbers  which 
he  sometimes  propagates.  We  see  many  a  young  fellow  who  is 
scarce  of  age,  that  could  lay  his  claim  to  the  Jus  trium  liherorum^ 
or  the  privileges  which  were  granted  by  the  Roman  laws  to  all 
such  as  were  fathers  of  three  children  :  nay,  I  have  heard  a  rake, 
who  was  not  quite  five-and-twenty,  declare  himself  the  father  of  a 


No.  203.] 


SPECTATOR. 


485 


seventh  son,  and  very  prudently  determine  to  breed  him  up  a 
physician.  In  short,  the  town  is  full  of  those  young  patriarchs ; 
not  to  mention  several  battered  beaus,  who,  like  heedless  spend- 
thrifts, that  squander  away  their  estates  before  they  are  masters 
of  them,  have  raised  up  their  whole  stock  of  children  before  mar- 
riage. 

I  must  not  here  omit  the  particular  whim  of  an  impudent 
libertine  that  had  a  little  smattering  of  heraldry ;  and  observing 
how  the  genealogies  of  great  families  were  often  drawn  up  in  the 
shape  of  trees,  had  taken  a  fancy  to  dispose  of  his  own  illegitimate 
issue  in  a  figure  of  the  same  kind. 

 ISTec  longum  tempus,  et  ingens, 

Exiit  ad  coelum  ramis  felicibus  arbos, 
Miraturque  novas  frondes,  et  non  sua  poma. 

ViRG.  Georg.  ii.  80. 

And  in  short  space  the  laden  boughs  arise, 
With  happy  fruit  advancing  to  the  skies : 
The  mother  plant  admires  the  leaves  unknown, 
Of  alien  trees,  and  apples  not  her  own. 

Dryden. 

■  The  trunk  of  the  tree  was  marked  with  his  own  name.  Will. 
Maple.  Out  of  the  side  of  it  grew  a  large  barren  branch,  inscrib- 
ed Mary  Maple,  the  name  of  his  unhappy  wife.  The  head  was 
adorned  with  five  huge  boughs.  On  the  bottom  of  the  first  was 
written  in  capital  characters,  Kate  Cole,  who  branched  out  into 
three  sprigs,  viz.  William,  Richard,  and  Kebecca.  Sal  Twiford 
gave  birth  to  another  bough  that  shot  up  into  Sarah,  Tom,  Will, 
and  Frank.  The  third  arm  of  the  tree  had  only  a  single  infant 
in  it,  with  a  space  left  for  a  second,  the  parent  from  whom  it 
sprung  being  near  her  time  when  the  author  took  this  ingenious 
device  into  his  head.  The  two  other  great  boughs  were  very 
plentifully  loaden  with  fruit  of  the  same  kind ;  besides  which, 
there  were  many  ornamental  branches  that  did  not  bear.  In 


486 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  203 


short,  a  more  flourishing  tree  never  came  out  of  the  Herald's 
Office. 

"What  makes  this  generation  of  vermin  so  very  prolific,  is  the 
indefatigable  diligence  with  which  they  apply  themselves  to  their 
business.  A  man  does  not  undergo  more  watchings  and  fatigues 
in  a  campaign,  than  in  the  course  of  a  vicious  amour.  As  it  is 
said  of  some  men,  that  they  make  their  business  their  pleasure, 
these  sons  of  darkness  may  be  said  to  make  their  pleasure  their 
business.  They  might  conquer  their  corrupt  inclinations  with 
half  the  pains  they  are  at  in  gratifying  them. 

Nor  is  the  invention  of  these  men  less  to  be  admired  than 
their  industry  and  vigilance.  There  is  a  fragment  of  ApoUo- 
dorus,  the  comic  poet,  (who  was  contemporary  with  Menander,) 
which  is  full  of  humour,  as  follows  :  '  Thou  may'st  shut  up  thy 
doors,  (says  he,)  with  bars  and  bolts ;  it  will  be  impossible  for 
the  blacksmith  to  make  them  so  fast,  but  a  cat  and  a  whore- 
master  will  find  a  way  through  them.'  In  a  word,  there  is  no 
head  so  full  of  stratagem  as  that  of  a  libidinous  man. 

Were  I  to  propose  a  punishment  for  this  infamous  race  of 
propagators,  it  should  be  to  send  them,  after  the  second  or  third 
oflfence,  into  our  American  colonies,  in  order  to  people  those 
parts  of  her  Majesty's  dominions  where  there  is  a  want  of  in- 
habitants, and,  in  the  phrase  of  Diogenes,  to  ^  plant  men.' 
Some  countries  punish  this  crime  with  death ;  but  I  think  such 
a  banishment  would  be  sufficient,  and  might  turn  this  generative 
faculty  to  the  advantage  of  the  public. 

In  the  mean  time,  till  these  gentlemen  may  be  thus  disposed 
of,  I  would  earnestly  exhort  them  to  take  care  of  those  unfortu- 
nate creatures  whom  they  have  brought  into  the  world  by  these 
indirect  methods,  and  to  give  their  spurious  children  such  an 
education  as  may  render  them  more  virtuous  than  their  parents. 
This  is  the  best  atonement  they  can  make  for  their  own  crimes, 


N"o.  203.] 


SPECTATOR 


487 


and  indeed  the  only  method  that  is  left  them  to  repair  their  past 
miscarriages. 

I  would  likewise  desire  them  to  consider,  whether  they  are 
not  bound  in  common  humanity,  as  well  as  by  all  the  obligations 
of  religion  and  nature,  to  make  some  provision  for  those  whom 
they  have  not  only  given  life  to,  but  entailed  upon  them,  though 
very  unreasonably,  a  degree  of  shame  and  disgrace.  And  here 
I  cannot  but  take  notice  of  those  depraved  notions  which  prevail 
among  us,  and  which  must  have  taken  rise  from  our  natural  in- 
clination to  favour  a  vice  to  which  we  are  so  very  prone,  namely, 
that  bastardy  and  cuckoldom  should  be  looked  upon  as  reproaches, 
and  that  the  shame  which  is  only  due  to  lewdness  and  falsehood, 
should  fall  in  so  unreasonable  a  manner  upon  the  persons  who 
are  innocent. 

I  have  been  insensibly  drawn  into  this  discourse  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  v/hich  is  drawn  up  with  such  a  spirit  of  sincerity, 
that  I  question  not  but  the  writer  of  it  has  represented  his  case 
in  a  true  genuine  light. 

"Sir, 

"  I  am  one  of  those  people  who  by  the  general  opinion  of  the 
world,  are  counted  both  infamous  and  unhappy. 

"  My  father  is  a  very  eminent  man  in  this  kingdom,  and  one 
who  bears  considerable  offices  in  it.  I  am  his  son  ;  but  my  mis- 
fortune is,  that  I  dare  not  call  him  father,  nor  he  without  shame 
own  me  as  his  issue,  I  being  illegitimate,  and  therefore  deprived 
of  that  endearing  tenderness  and  unparalleled  satisfaction,  which 
a  good  man  finds  in  the  love  and  conversation  of  a  parent : 
neither  have  I  the  opportunities  to  render  him  the  duties  of  a 
son,  he  having  always  carried  himself  at  so  vast  a  distance,  and 
with  such  superiority  towards  me,  that  by  long  u^e  I  have 
contracted  a  timorousness  when  before  him,  which  hinders  me 


488 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  203. 


from  declaring  my  own  necessities,  and  giving  him  to  understand 
the  inconveniencies  I  undergo. 

"  It  is  my  misfortune  to  have  been  neither  bred  a  scholar,  a 
soldier,  nor  to  any  kind  of  business,  which  renders  me  entirely 
uncapable  of  making  provision  for  myself  without  his  assistance  ; 
and  this  creates  a  continual  uneasiness  in  my  mind,  fearing  I 
shall  in  time  want  bread ;  my  father,  if  I  may  so  call  him,  giving 
me  but  very  faint  assurances  of  doing  any  thing  for  me. 

"  I  have  hitherto  lived  somewhat  like  a  gentleman,  and  it 
would  be  very  hard  for  me  to  labour  for  my  living.  I  am  in 
continual  anxiety  for  my  future  fortune,  and  under  a  great  un- 
happiness  in  losing  the  sweet  conversation  and  friendly  advice  of 
my  parents  ;  so  that  I  cannot  look  upon  myself  otherwise  than 
as  a  monster  strangely  sprung  up  in  nature,  which  every  one  is 
ashamed  to  own. 

I  am  thought  to  be  a  man  of  some  natural  parts,  and  by  the 
continual  reading  what  you  have  offered  the  world,  become  an 
admirer  thereof,  which  has  drawn  me  to  make  this  confession ;  at 
the  same  time  hoping,  if  any  thing  herein  shall  touch  you  with  a 
sense  of  pity,  you  will  then  allow  me  the  favour  of  your  opinion 
thereupon  ;  as  also  what  part  I,  being  unlawfully  born,  may  claim 
of  the  man's  affection  who  begot  me,  and  how  far  in  your  opinion 
I  am  to  be  thought  his  son,  or  he  acknowledged  as  my  father. 
Your  sentiments  and  advice  herein  will  be  a  great  consolation 
and  satisfaction  to. 

Sir,  your  admirer  and 

Humble  Servant.  W.  B." 


No.  205.1 


SPECTATOR. 


489 


No.  205.    THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  25. 

Decipimur  specie  recti  

HoR.   Ars  Poet.  25. 

Deluded  by  a  seeming  excellence. 

EOSCOMMON. 

When  I  meet  with  any  vicious  character  that  is  not  generally 
known,  in  order  to  prevent  its  doing  mischief,  I  draw  it  at  length, 
and  set  it  up  as  a  scarecrow ;  by  which  means  I  do  not  only 
make  an  example  of  the  person  to  whom  it  belongs,  but  give 
warning  to  all  her  Majesty's  subjects,  that  they  may  not  suffer 
by  it.  Thus,  to  change  the  allusion,  I  have  marked  out  several 
of  the  shoals  and  quicksands  of  life,  and  am  continually  employed 
in  discovering  those  which  are  still  concealed,  in  order  to  keep 
the  ignorant  and  unwary  from  running  upon  them.  It  is  with 
this  intention  that  I  publish  the  following  letter,  which  brings  to 
light  some  secrets  of  this  nature. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  There  are  none  of  your  speculations  which  I  read  over  with 
greater  delight,  than  those  which  are  designed  for  the  improve- 
ment of  our  sex.  You  have  endeavoured  to  correct  our  unrea- 
sonable fears  and  superstitions,  in  your  seventh  and  twelfth 
papers  ;  our  fancy  for  equipage,  in  your  fifteenth  ;  our  love  of 
puppet-shows,  in  your  thirty-first ;  our  notions  of  beauty,  in  your 
thirty-third ;  our  inclinations  for  romances,  in  your  thirty- 
seventh  ;  our  passion  for  French  fopperies,  in  your  forty-fifth  ; 
our  manhood  and  party  zeal,  in  your  fifty-seventh ;  our  abuse  of 
dancing,  in  your  sixty-sixth  and  sixty-seventh ;  our  levity,  in 
your  hundred  and  twenty-eighth ;  our  love  of  coxcombs,  in  your 
hundred  and  fifty-fourth,  and  hundred  and  fifty-seventh ;  our 
tyranny  over  the  henpeckt,  in  your  hundred  and  seventy-sixth. 

VOL.   V. — 21* 


490 


SPECTATOR. 


LNo.  205 


You  have  described  the  Pict  in  your  forty-first ;  the  Idol,  in 
your  seventy- third  ;  the  Demurrer,  in  your  eighty-ninth  ;  the 
Salamander,  in  your  hundred  and  ninety-eighth.  You  have  like- 
wise taken  to  pieces  our  dress,  and  represented  to  us  the  extrav- 
agances we  are  often  guilty  of  in  that  particular.  You  have 
fallen  upon  our  patches,  in  your  fiftieth  and  eighty-first ;  our 
commodes,  in  your  ninety-eighth  ;  our  fans,  in  your  hundred-and- 
second  ;  our  riding  habits,  in  your  hundred-and-fourth  ;  our  hoop- 
petticoats,  in  your  hundred  and  twenty-seventh  ;  besides  a  great 
many  little  blemishes,  which  you  have  touched  upon  in  your  seve- 
ral other  papers,  and  in  those  many  letters  that  are  scattered  up 
and  down  your  works.  At  the  same  time  we  must  own,  that  the 
compliments  you  pay  our  sex  are  innumerable,  and  that  those 
very  faults  which  you  represent  in  us,  are  neither  black  in  them- 
selves, nor,  as  you  own,  universal  among  us.  But,  sir,  it  is  plain 
that  these  your  discourses  are  calculated  for  none  but  the 
fashionable  part  of  womankind,  and  for  the  use  of  those  who  are 
rather  indiscreet  than  vicious.  But,  sir,  there  is  a  sort  of  pros- 
titutes in  the  lower  part  of  our  sex,  who  are  a  scandal  to  us,  and 
very  well  deserve  to  fall  under  your  censure.  I  know  it  would 
debase  your  paper  too  much  to  enter  into  the  behaviour  of  these 
female  libertines  ;  but  as  your  remarks  on  some  part  of  it  would 
be  a  doing  of  justice  to  several  women  of  virtue  and  honour 
whose  reputations  suffer  by  it,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  it  im- 
proper to  give  the  public  some  accounts  of  this  nature.  You 
must  know,  sir,  I  am  provoked  to  write  you  this  letter  by  the 
behaviour  of  an  infamous  woman,  who  having  passed  her  youth 
in  a  most  shameless  state  of  prostitution,  is  now  one  of  those  who 
gain  their  livelihood  by  seducing  others  that  are  younger  than 
themselves,  and  by  establishing  a  criminal  commerce  between 
the  two  sexes.  Among  several  of  her  artifices  to  get  money,  she 
frequently  persuades  a  vain  young  fellow,  that  such  a  woman  of 


No.  205.] 


SPECTATOR. 


491 


quality,  or  such  a  celebrated  toast,  entertains  a  secret  passion 
for  him,  and  wants  nothing  but  an  opportunity  of  revealing  it : 
nay,  she  has  gone  so  far  as  to  write  letters  in  the  name  of  a 
woman  of  figure,  to  borrow  money  of  one  of  these  foolish  Rode- 
rigos,^  which  she  has  afterwards  appropriated  to  her  own  use. 
In  the  mean  time  the  person  who  has  lent  the  money,  has 
thought  a  lady  under  obligations  to  him,  who  scarce  knew  his 
name  :  and  wondered  at  her  ingratitude  when  he  has  been  with 
her,  that  she  has  not  owned  the  favour,  though  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  too  much  a  man  of  honour  to  put  her  in  mind  of  it. 

"  When  this  abandoned  baggage  meets  with  a  man  who  has 
vanity  enough  to  give  credit  to  relations  of  this  nature,  she  turns 
him  to  a  very  good  account,  by  repeating  praises  that  were  never 
uttered,  and  delivering  messages  that  were  never  sent.  As  the 
house  of  this  shameless  creature  is  frequented  by  several  foreign- 
ers, I  have  heard  of  another  artifice,  out  of  which  she  often  raises 
money.  The  foreigner  sighs  after  some  British  beauty,  whom  he 
only  knows  by  fame  :  upon  which  she  promises,  if  he  can  be 
secret,  to  procure  ]iim  a  meeting.  The  stranger,  ravished  at  his 
good  fortune,  gives  her  a  present,  and  in  a  little  time  is  introdu- 
ced to  some  imaginary  title ;  for  you  must  know  that  this  cunning 
purveyor  has  her  representatives,  upon  this  occasion,  of  some  of 
the  finest  ladies  in  the  kingdom.  By  this  means,  as  I  am  inform- 
ed, it  is  usual  enough  to  meet  with  a  German  count  in  foreign 
countries,  that  shall  make  his  boasts  of  favours  he  has  received 
from  women  of  the  highest  ranks,  and  the  most  umblemished 
characters.  Now,  sir,  what  safety  is  there  for  a  woman's  reputa- 
tion, when  a  lady  may  be  thus  prostituted  as  it  were  by  proxy 
and  be  reputed  an  unchaste  woman ;  as  the  hero  in  the  ninth 
book  of  Dryden's  Yirgil  is  looked  upon  as  a  coward,  because  the 
phantom  which  appeared  in  his  likeness  ran  away  from  Turnus  ? 
'  V.  Othello.— C. 


492 


SPECTATOR. 


[No,  206 


You  may  depend  upon  what  I  relate  to  you  to  be  matter  of  fact, 
and  the  practice  of  more  than  one  of  these  female  panders.  If 
you  print  this  letter,  I  may  give  you  some  further  accounts  of 
this  vicious  race  of  women. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  Belvidera." 

I  shall  add  two  other  letters  on  different  subjects  to  fill  up  my 
paper. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 

"  I  AM  a  country  clergyman,  and  hope  you  will  lend  me  your 
assistance,  in  ridiculing  some  little  indecencies  which  cannot  so 
properly  be  exposed  from  the  pulpit. 

"A  widow  lady,  who  straggled  this  summer  from  London  into 
my  parish  for  the  benefit  of  the  air,  as  she  says,  appears  every 
Sunday  at  church  with  many  fashionable  extravagancies,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  my  congregation. 

But  what  gives  us  the  most  offence,  is  her  theatrical  manner 
of  singing  the  psalms.  She  introduces  above  fifty  Italian  airs 
into  the  hundredth  psalm ;  and  whilst  we  begin  all  peoj^le  in  the 
old  solemn  time  of  our  forefathers,  she,  in  a  quite  different  key, 
runs  divisions  on  the  vowels,  and  adorns  them  with  the  graces  of 
Nicolini ;  if  she  meets  with  eke  or  aye,  which  are  frequent  in  the 
metre  of  Hopkins  and  Sternhold,  we  are  certain  to  hear  her 
quavering  them  half  a  minute  after  us  to  some  sprightly  airs  of 
the  opera. 

"  I  am  very  far  from  being  an  enemy  to  church  music  ;  but 
fear  this  abuse  of  it  may  make  my  parish  ridiculous,  who  already 
look  on  the  singing  psalms  as  an  entertainment,  and  not  part  of 
their  devotion  :  besides,  I  am  apprehensive  that  the  infection 
may  spread  ;  for  Squire  Squeekum,  who  by  his  voice  seems  (if 


No.  206.] 


SPECTATOR 


493 


I  may  use  the  expi  ession)  to  be  cut  out  for  an  Italian  singer,  was 
last  Sunday  practising  the  same  airs. 

I  know  the  lady's  principles,  and  that  she  will  plead  the  tol- 
eration, which  (as  she  fancies)  allows  her  non-conformity  in  this 
particular  ;  but  I  beg  you  to  acquaint  her,  that  singing  the  psalms 
in  a  different  tune  from  the  rest  of  the  congregation,  is  a  sort  of 
schism  not  tolerated  by  that  act. 

I  am,  sir, 

"  Your  very  humble  servant,  R.  S." 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  In  your  paper  upon  temperance,^  you  prescribe  to  us  a  rule 
for  drinking,  out  of  Sir  William  Temple,  in  the  following  words  ; 
*  The  jfirst  glass  for  myself,  the  second  for  my  friends,  the  third 
for  good  humour,  and  the  fourth  for  mine  enemies.'  Now,  sir, 
you  must  know  that  I  have  read  this  your  Spectator  in  a  club 
whereof  I  am  a  member ;  when  our  president  told  us  there 
was  certainly  an  error  in  the  print,  and  that  the  word  glass 
should  be  bottle ;  and  therefore  has  ordered  me  to  inform  you  of 
this  mistake,  and  to  desire  you  to  publish  the  following  errata : 
In  the  paper  of  Saturday,  October  13,  col.  3,  line  1  \  for  glass 
read  bottle. 

"  Yours,  Robin  Good-fellow." 

L. 


»  Ko.  196. 


494 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  207 


No.  207.    SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  27. 

Omnibus  in  terris,  qu£E  sunt  a  Gadibus  usque 
Auroram  et  Gangem,  pauci  dignoscere  possunt 
Vera  bona,  atquo  illis  multum  diversa,  remote 
En-oris  nebula  

Juv.  Sat.  X.  1. 
Look  round  the  habitable  world,  how  few 
Know  their  own  good,  or,  knowing,  it  pursue. 

Drydex. 

In  my  last  Saturday's  paper^  I  laid  down  some  thoughts  upon 
devotion  in  general,  and  shall  here  shew  what  were  the  notions  of 
the  most  refined  heathens  on  this  subject,  as  they  are  represented 
in  Plato's  dialogue  upon  prayer,  entitled,  ^  Alcibiades  the  Second,' 
which  doubtless  gave  occasion  to  Juvenal's  tenth  Satire,  and  to 
the  second  Satire  of  Persius ;  as  the  last  of  these  authors  has  al- 
most transcribed  the  preceding  dialogue,  entitled,  ^  Alcibiades 
the  First,'  in  his  fourth  Satire. 

The  speakers  in  this  dialogue  upon  prayer,  are  Socrates  and 
Alcibiades  :  and  the  substance  of  it  (when  drawn  together  out  of 
the  intricacies  and  digressions)  as  follows. 

Socrates  meeting  his  pupil  Alcibiades,  as  he  was  going  to 
his  devotions,  and  observing  his  eyes  to  be  fixed  upon  the  earth 
with  great  seriousness  and  attention,  tells  him,  that  he  had  rea- 
son  to  be  thoughtful  on  that  occasion,  since  it  was  possible  for  a 
man  to  bring  down  evils  upon  himself  by  his  own  prayers,  and 
that  those  things  which  the  gods  send  him  in  answer  to  his  peti- 
tions might  turn  to  his  destruction :  This,  says  he,. may  not  only 
happen  w^hen  a  man  prays  for  what  he  knows  is  mischievous  in 
its  own  nature,  as  Oedipus  implored  the  gods  to  sow  dissension 
between  his  sons ;  but  when  he  prays  for  what  he  believes  would 
be  for  his  good,  and  against  what  he  believes  would  be  to  his  det- 

'  No.  201.— a 


No.  20T.] 


SPECTATOR. 


495 


riment.  This  the  philosopher  shews  must  necessarily  happen 
among  us,  since  most  men  are  blinded  with  ignorance,  prejudice, 
or  passion,  which  hinder  them  from  seeing  such  things  as  are 
really  beneficial  to  them.  For  an  instance,  he  asks  Alcibiades, 
Whether  he  would  not  be  thoroughly  pleased  if  that  God  to  whom 
he  was  going  to  address  himself,  should  promise  to  make  him  the 
sovereign  of  the  whole  earth?  Alcibiades  answers,  That  he  should 
doubtless  look  upon  such  a  promise  as  the  greatest  favour  that 
could  be  bestowed  upon  him.  Socrates  then  asks  him.  If,  after 
receiving  this  great  favour,  he  would  be  content  to  lose  his  life  ? 
or  if  he  would  receive  it  though  he  was  sure  he  would  make  an 
ill  use  of  it?  To  both  w^hich  questions  Alcibiades  answers  in  the 
negative.  Socrates  then  shews  him  from  the  examples  of  others, 
how  these  might  very  probably  be  the  eflfects  of  such  a  blessing. 
He  then  adds,  that  other  reputed  pieces  of  good  fortune,  as  that 
of  having  a  son,  or  procuring  the  highest  post  in  a  government, 
are  subject  to  the  like  fatal  consequences;  which  nevertheless, 
says  he,  men  ardently  desire,  and  would  not  fail  to  pray  for,  if 
they  thought  their  prayers  might  be  effectual  for  the  obtaining 
of  them. 

Having  established  this  great  point.  That  all  the  most  ap- 
parent blessings  in  this  life  are  obnoxious  to  such  dreadful  conse- 
quences, and  that  no  man  knows  what  in  its  events  would  prove 
to  him  a  blessing  or  a  curse,  he  teaches  Alcibiades  after  what 
manner  he  ought  to  pray. 

In  the  first  place,  he  recommends  to  him,  as  the  model  of  his 
devotion,  a  short  prayer,  which  a  Greek  poet  composed  far  the 
use  of  his  friends,  in  the  following  words  :  ^  0,  Jupiter,  give  us 
those  things  which  are  good  for  us,  whether  they  are  such  things 
as  we  pray  for,  or  such  things  as  we  do  not  pray  for ;  and  remove 
from  us  those  things  which  are  hurtful,  though  they  are  such 
things  as  we  pray  for.' 


496 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  201 


In  tne  second  place,  that  this  disciple  may  ask  such  things  aa 
are  expedient  for  him,  he  shews  him,  that  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  apply  himself  to  the  study  of  true  wisdom,  and  to  the 
knowledge  of  that  which  is  his  chief  good,  and  the  most  suitable 
to  the  excellency  of  his  nature. 

In  the  third  and  last  place,  he  informs  him,  that  the  best 
methods  he  could  make  use  of  to  draw  down  blessings  upon  him- 
self, and  to  render  his  prayers  acceptable,  would  be  to  live  in  a 
constant  practice  of  his  duty  towards  the  gods,  and  towards  men. 
Under  this  head  he  very  much  recommends  a  form  of  prayer  the 
Lacedemonians  made  use  of,  in  which  they  petition  the  gods,  ^  to 
give  them  all  good  things  so  long  as  they  are  virtuous.'  Under 
this  head,  likewise,  he  gives  a  very  remarkable  account  of  an 
oracle  to  the  following  purpose. 

When  the  Athenians,  in  the  war  with  the  Lacedemonians, 
received  many  defoats  both  by  sea  and  land,  they  sent  a  message 
to  the  oracle  of  J upiter  Amnion,  to  ask  the  reason  why  they,  who 
erected  so  many  temples  to  the  gods,  and  adorned  them  with  such 
costly  offerings  ;  why  they,  who  had  instituted  so  many  festivals, 
and  accompanied  them  with  such  pomps  and  ceremonies ;  in 
short,  why  they,  who  had  slain  so  many  hecatombs  at  their  altars, 
should  be  less  successful  than  the  Lacedemonians,  who  fell  so 
short  of  them  in  all  these  particulars.  To  this,  says  he,  the 
oracle  made  the  following  reply  :  ^  I  am  better  pleased  with  the 
prayers  of  the  Lacedemonians,  than  with  all  the  oblations  of  the 
Greeks.'  As  this  prayer  implied  and  encouraged  virtue  in  those 
who  made  it,  the  philosopher  proceeds  to  shew  how  the  most 
vicious  man  might  be  devout,  so  far  as  victims  could  make  him, 
but  that  his  offerings  were  regarded  by  the  gods  as  bribes,  and 
his  petitions  as  blasphemies.  He  likewise  quotes  on  this  occasion 
two  verses  out  of  Homer,  in  which  the  poet  says,  that  the  scent 
of  the  Trojan  sacrifices  was  carried  up  to  heaven  by  the  winds, 


Ko.  207.J 


SPECTATOR. 


497 


but  that  it  was  not  acceptable  to  the  gods,  who  were  displeased 
with  Priam  and  all  his  people.^ 

The  conclusion  of  this  dialogue  is  very  remarkable.  Socrates 
having  deterred  Alcibiades  from  the  prayers  and  sacrifices  which 
he  was  going  to  offer,  by  setting  forth  the  above-mentioned  diffi- 
culties of  performing  that  duty  as  he  ought,  adds  these  words  : 
^  We  must  therefore  wait  till  such  time  as  we  may  learn  how  to 
behave  ourselves  towards  the  gods,  and  towards  men.'  But  when 
will  that  time  come,  (says  Alcibiades,)  and  who  is  it  that  will  in- 
struct us  ?  for.  I  would  fain  see  this  man,  whoever  he  is.  It  is 
one  (says  Socrates)  who  takes  care  of  you ;  but  as  Homer  tells 
us,^  that  Minerva  removed  the  mist  from  Diomedes  his  eyes,  that 
he  might  plainly  discover  both  gods  and  men ;  so  the  darkness 
that  hangs  upon  your  mind  must  be  removed,  before  you  are  able 
to  discern  what  is  good  and  what  is  evil.  Let  him  remove  from 
my  mind  (says  Alcibiades)  the  darkness,  and  what  else  he  pleas- 
es ;  I  am  determined  to  refuse  nothing  he  shall  order  me^ 
whoever  he  is,  so  that  I  may  become  the  better  man  by  it.  The 
remaining  part  of  this  dialogue  is  very  obscure  :  there  is  some- 
thing in  it  that  would  make  us  think  Socrates  hinted  at  himself, 
when  he  spoke  of  this  divine  teacher  who  was  to  come  into  the 
world ;  did  not  he  own  that  he  himself  was  in  this  respect  as 
much  at  a  loss,  and  in  as  great  distress  as  the  rest  of  mankind. 

Some  learned  men  look  upon  this  conclusion  as  a  prediction 
of  our  Saviour,  or  at  least  that  Socrates,  like  the  high-priest, 
prophesied  unknowingly,  and  pointed  at  that  divine  teacher  who 
was  to  come  into  the  world  some  ages  after  him.  However  that 
may  be,  we  find  that  this  great  philosopher  saw,  by  the  light  of 
reason,  that  it  was  suitable  to  the  goodness  of  the  divine  nature, 
to  send  a  person  into  the  world  who  should  instruct  man- 

1  Iliad  yiii.  548,  &c.-- C.        '  Iliad  v.  12'7.— C 


498 


SPECTATOR. 


[jSTo.  207. 


kind  in  the  duties  of  religionj  and,  in  particular,  teach  them  how 
to  pray. 

Whoever  reads  this  abstract  of  Plato's  discourse  on  prayer, 
will,  I  believe,  naturally  make  this  reflection.  That  the  great 
founder  of  our  religion,  as  well  by  his  own  example,  as  in  the 
form  of  prayer  which  he  taught  his  disciples,  did  not  only  keep 
up  to  those  rules  which  the  light  of  nature  had  suggested  to  this 
great  philosopher,  but  instructed  his  disciples  in  the  whole  ex- 
tent of  this  duty,  as  well  as  of  all  others.  He  directed  them  to 
the  proper  object  of  adoration,  and  taught  them,  according  to 
the  third  rule  above-mentioned,  to  apply  themselves  to  him  in 
their  closets,  without  show  or  ostentation,  and  to  worship  him  in 
spirit  and  in  truth.  As  the  Lacedemonians  in  their  form  of 
pra3W,  implored  the  gods  in  general  to  give  them  all  good  things, 
BO  long  as  they  were  virtuous,  we  ask,  in  particular,  '  that  our 
offences  may  be  forgiven,  as  we  forgive  those  of  others.'  If  we 
look  into  the  second  rule  which  Socrates  has  prescribed,  namely. 
That  we  should  apply  ourselves  to  the  knowledge  of  such  things 
as  are  best  for  us,  this  too  is  explained  at  large  in  the  doctrines 
of  the  Gospel,  where  we  are  taught  in  several  instances  to  regard 
those  things  as  curses,  which  appear  as  blessings  in  the  eye  of 
the  world  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  to  esteem  those  things  as  bless- 
ings, which  to  the  generality  of  mankind  appear  as  curses.  Thus 
in  the  form  which  is  prescribed  to»us,  we  only  pray  for  that  hap- 
piness which  is  our  chief  good,  and  the  great  end  of  our  exist- 
ence, when  we  petition  the  Supreme  Being  for  ^  the  coming  of  his 
kingdom,'  being  solicitous  for  no  other  temporal  blessing  but  our 
*  daily  sustenance.'  On  the  other  side,  we  pray  against  nothing 
but  sin,  and  against  '  evil  '•  in  general,  leaving  it  with  Omnis- 
cience to  determine  what  is  really  such.  If  we  look  into  the 
first  of  Socrates  his  rules  of  prayer,  in  which  he  recommends  the 
above-mentioned  form  of  the  ancient  poet,  we  find  that  form  not 


No.  209.] 


SPECTATOR. 


499 


only  compreliendxl,  but  very  much  improved,  in  the  petition, 
wherein  we  pray  to  the  Supreme  Being  that  his  *  will  may  be 
done ;  '  which  is  of  the  same  force  with  that  form  which  our 
Saviour  used,  when  he  prayed  against  the  most  painful  and 
most  ignominious  of  deaths.  '  Nevertheless  not  my  will,  but 
thine  be  done.'  This  comprehensive  petition  is  the  most  humble, 
as  well  as  the  most  prudent,  that  can  be  ofi'ered  up  from  the 
creature  to  his  Creator,  as  it  supposes  the  Supreme  Being  wills 
nothing  but  what  is  for  our  good,  and  that  he  knows  better  than 
ourselves  what  is  so.  L. 


No.  209.    TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  30. 

&/jLeivov,  ou5e  piyiov  KaKris. 

SiMOKIDES. 

Of  earthly  goods,  the  best  is  a  good  wife ; 
A  bad,  the  bitterest  curse  of  human  life. 

There  are  no  authors  I  am  more  pleased  with,  than  those 
who  shew  human  nature  in  a  variety  of  views,  and  describe  the 
several  ages  of  the  world  in  their  different  manners.  A  reader 
cannot  be  more  rationally  entertained,  than  by  comparing  the 
virtues  and  vices  of  his  own  times,  with  those  which  prevailed  in 
the  times  of  his  fore-fathers;  and  drawing  a  parallel  in  his  mind 
between  his  own  private  character,  and  that  of  other  persons, 
whether  of  his  own  age,  or  of  the  ages  that  went  before  him. 
The  contemplation  of  mankind  under  these  changeable  colours, 
is  apt  to  shame  us  out  of  any  particular  vice,  or  animate  us  to 
any  particular  virtue ;  to  make  us  pleased  or  displeased  with 
ourselves  in  the  most  proper  points,  to  clear  our  minds  of  preju- 


500 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  209 


dice  and  prepossession,  and  rectify  that  narrowness  of  temper 
which  inclines  us  to  think  amiss  of  those  who  differ  from  our 
selves. 

If  we  look  into  the  manners  of  the  most  remote  ages  of  the 
world,  we  discover  human  nature  in  her  simplicity;  and  the 
more  we  come  downward  towards  our  own  times,  may  observe 
her  hiding  herself  in  artifices  and  refinements,  polished  insen- 
sibly out  of  her  original  plainness,  and  at  length  entirely  lost 
under  form  and  ceremony,  and  (what  we  call)  good-breeding. 
Read  the  accounts  of  men  and  women  as  they  are  given  us  by 
the  most  ancient  writers,  both  sacred  and  profane,  and  you  would 
think  you  were  reading  the  history  of  another  species. 

Among  the  writers  of  antiquity,  there  are  none  which  instruct 
us  more  openly  in  the  manners  of  their  respective  times  in  which 
they  lived,  than  those  who  have  ^employed  themselves  in  satire, 
under  what  dress  soever  it  may  appear  ;  as  there  are  no  other 
authors  whose  province  it  is  to  enter  so  directly  into  the  ways 
of  men,  and  set  their  miscarriages  in  so  strong  a  light. 

Simonides,  a  poet  famous  in  his  generation,  is  I  think  author 
of  the  oldest  satire  that  is  now  extant ;  and,  as  some  say,  of  the 
first  that  was  ever  written.  This  poet  flourished  about  four  hun- 
dred years  after  the  siege  of  Troy ;  and  shews,  by  his  way  of 
writing,  the  simplicity,  or  rather  coarseness,  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived.  I  have  taken  notice,  in  my  hundred  and  sixty-first 
speculation,  that  the  rule  of  observing  what  the  French  call 
the  JBiensea?icej  in  an  allusion,  has  been  found  out  of  late  years ; 
and  that  the  ancients,  provided  there  was  a  likeness  in  their 
similitudes,  did  not  much  trouble  themselves  with  the  decency 
of  the  comparison.  The  satires  or  iambics  of  Simonides,  with 
which  I  shall  entertain  my  readers  in  the  present  paper,  are  a 
remarkable  instance  of  what  I  formerly  advanced.  The  subject  of 
this  satire  is  woman.    He  describes  the  sex  in  their  several  cha 


No.  209.] 


SPECTATOR. 


501 


racters,  which  he  derives  to  them  from  a  fanciful  supposition 
raised  upon  the  doctrine  of  pre-existence.  He  tells  us  that  the 
gods  formed  the  souls  of  women  out  of  those  seeds  and  princi- 
ples which  compose  several  kinds  of  animals  and  elements  ;  and 
that  their  good  or  bad  dispositions  arise  in  them  according  as 
such  and  such  seeds  and  principles  predominate  in  their  consti- 
tutions. I  have  translated  the  author  very  faithfully,  and  if  not 
word  for  word  (which  our  language  would  not  bear)  at  least  so 
as  to  comprehend  every  one  of  his  sentiments,  without  adding 
any  thing  of  my  own.  I  have  already  apologized  for  this  author's 
want  of  delicacy,  and  must  further  premise,  that  the  following 
satire  affects  only  some  of  the  lower  part  of  the  sex,  and  not 
those  who  have  been  refined  by  a  polite  education,  which  was  not 
so  common  in  the  age  of  this  poet.^ 

^  In  the  beginning  God  made  the  souls  of  woman-kind  out  of 
different  materials,  and  in  a  separate  state  from  their  bodies. 

^  The  souls  of  one  kind  of  women  were  formed  out  of  those 
ingredients  which  compose  a  swine.  A  woman  of  this  make  is 
a  slut  in  her  house,  and  a  glutton  at  her  table.  She  is  uncleanly 
in  her  person,  a  slattern  in  her  dress,  and  her  family  is  no  better 
than  a  dung-hill. 

'  A  second  sort  of  female  soul,  was  formed  out  of  the  same 
materials  that  entex  into  the  composition  of  a  fox.  Such  an  one 
is  what  we  call  a  notable  discerning  woman,  who  has  an  insight 
into  every  thing,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad.  In  this  species  of 
females  there  are  some  virtuous  and  some  vicious. 

^  A  third  kind  of  women  are  made  up  of  canine  particles. 

i  Simonides  of  Amorgos  lived,  according  to  Eusebius,  about  644  B.  C. : 
according  to  Siiidas,  780  (778)  B.  C.  But  Archilochus  was  the  first 
satirist — 

Archilochum  proprio  rabies  armavit  iambo. 
V.  Hor,  Ars  Poet.  v.  79,  and  Matthias's  History  of  Gr.  and  Rom.  Lit. — G. 


502 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  209. 


These  are  what  we  commonly  call  Scolds,  who  imitate  the  ani 
mals  out  of  which  they  were  taken,  that  are  always  busy  and 
barking,  that  snarl  at  every  one  who  comes  in  their  way,  and  live 
in  perpetual  clamour. 

*  The  fourth  kind  of  women  were  made  out  of  the  earth. 
These  are  your  sluggards,  who  pass  away  their  time  in  indolence 
and  ignorance,  hover  over  the  fire  a  whole  winter,  and  apply 
themselves  with  alacrity  to  no  kind  of  business  but  eating. 

'  The  fifth  species  of  females  were  made  out  of  the  sea. 
These  are  women  of  variable  uneven  tempers,  sometimes  all 
storm  and  tempest,  sometimes  all  calm  and  sunshine.  The 
stranger  who  sees  one  of  these  in  her  smiles  and  smoothness, 
would  cry  her  up  for  a  miracle  of  good  humour ;  but  on  a  sudden 
her  looks  and  words  are  changed,  she  is  nothing  but  fury  and 
outrage,  noise  and  hurricane. 

'  The  sixth  species  were  made  up  of  the  ingredients  which 
compose  an  ass,  or  a  beast  of  burden.  These  are  naturally 
exceeding  slothful,  but  upon  the  husband's  exerting  his  author- 
ity, will  live  upon  hard  fare,  and  do  every  thing  to  please  him. 
They  are  however  far  from  being  averse  to  venereal  pleasure,  and 
seldom  refuse  a  male  companion. 

'  The  cat  furnished  materials  for  a  seventh  species  of  women, 
who  are  of  a  melancholy,  fro  ward,  unamiable  nature,  and  so  re- 
pugnant to  the  offers  of  love,  that  they  fly  iif  the  face  of  their 
husband  when  he  approaches  them  with  conjugal  endearments. 
This  species  of  women  are  likewise  subject  to  little  thefts,  cheats, 
and  pilferings. 

^  The  mare  with  a  flowing  name,  which  was  never  broke  to  any 
servile  toil  and  labour,  composed  an  eighth  species  of  women. 
These  are  they  who  have  little  regard  for  their  husbands,  who 
pass  away  their  time  in  dressing,  bathing,  and  perfuming ;  who 
throw  their  hair  into  the  nicest  curls,  and  trick  it  up  with  the 


No.  209.]  SPECTATOR.  503 

fairest  flowers  and  garlands.  A  woman  of  this  species  is  a  very 
pretty  thing  for  a  stranger  to  look  upon,  but  very  detrimental  to 
the  owner,  unless  it  be  a  king  or  prince  who  takes  a  fancy  to  such 
a  toy. 

The  ninth  species  of  females  were  taken  out  of  the  ape. 
These  are  such  as  are  both  ugly  and  ill-natured,  who  have  no- 
thing beautiful  in  themselves,  and  endeavour  to  detract  from  or 
ridicule  every  thing  which  appears  so  in  others. 

^  The  tenth,  and  last  species  of  women,  were  made  out  of  the 
bee  :  and  happy  is  the  man  who  gets  such  an  one  for  his  wife. 
She  is  altogether  faultless  and  unblameable  ;  her  family  flourishes 
and  improves  by  her  good  management.  She  loves  her  husband, 
and  is  beloved  by  him.  She  brings  him  a  race  of  beautiful  and 
virtuous  children.  She  distinguishes  herself  among  her  sex.  She 
is  surrounded  with  graces.  She  never  sits  among  the  loose  tribe 
of  women,  nor  passes  away  her  time  with  them  in  wanton  dis- 
courses. She  is  full  of  virtue  and  prudence,  and  is  the  best  wife 
that  Jupiter  can  bestow  on  man.' 

I  shall  conclude  these  Iambics  with  the  motto  of  this  paper, 
which  is  a  fragment  of  the  same  author  :  ^  A  man  cannot  possess 
any  thing  that  is  better  than  a  good  woman,  nor  any  thing  that  is 
w^orse  than  a  bad  one.' 

As  the  poet  has  shewn  a  great  penetration  in  this  diversity 
of  female  characters,  he  has  avoided  the  fault  which  Juvenal  and 
Monsieur  Boileau  are  guilty  of,  the  former  in  his  sixth,  and  the 
other  in  his  last  satire,  where  they  have  endeavoured  to  expose 
the  sex  in  general,  without  doing  justice  to  the  valuable  part  of 
it.  Such  levelling  satires  are  of  no  use  to  the  world,  and  for  this 
reason  I  have  often  wondered  how  the  French  author  above-men- 
tioned, who  was  a  man  of  exquisite  judgment  and  a  lover  of  vir- 
tue, could  think  human  nature  a  proper  subject  for  s^atire  in 
another  of  his  celebrated  pieces,  which  is  called  '  The  Satire 


504 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  211. 


upon  Man.  What  vice  or  frailty  can  a  discourse  correct,  which 
censures  the  whole  species  alike,  and  endeavours  to  shew  by  some 
superficial  strokes  of  wit,  that  brutes  are  the  more  excellent  crea- 
tures of  the  two  ?  A  satire  should  expose  nothing  but  what  is 
corrigible,  and  make  a  due  discrimination  between  those  who  are, 
and  those  who  are  not  the  proper  objects  of  it.  L. 


No.  211.    THUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  1. 

Fictis  meminerit  nos  jocari  Fabulis. 

PhuED.  L.  i.  Prol. 
Let  it  be  remember'd  that  we  sport  in  fabled  stories. 

Having  lately  translated  the  fragment  of  an  old  poet,  which 
describes  womankind  under  several  characters,  and  supposes  them 
to  have  drawn  their  different  manners  and  dispositions  from  those 
animals  and  elements  out  of  which  he  tells  us  they  were  com- 
pounded ;  I  had  some  thoughts  of  giving  the  sex  their  revenge,  by 
laying  together  in  another  paper  the  many  vicious  characters 
which  prevail  in  the  male  world,  and  shewing  the  different  ingre- 
dients that  go  to  the  making  up  of  such  different  humours  and  con- 
stitutions. Horace  has  a  thought  which  is  something  akin  to 
this,  when,  in  order  to  excuse  himself  to  his  mistress,  for  an  in- 
vective which  he  had  written  against  her,  and  to  account  for  that 
unreasonable  fury  with  which  the  heart  of  man  is  often  transport- 
ed, he  tells  us,  that  when  Prometheus  made  his  man  of  clay,  in 
the  kneading  up  of  the  heart  he  seasoned  it  with  some  furious 
particles  of  the  lion.^    But  upon  turning  this  plan  to  and  fro  in 

^  L.  i.  16.    Thus  translated  by  Mr.  Diincombe. 

Tis  said,  when  Japhet's  son  began 

To  mould  the  clay  and  fashion  man, 

He  stole  from  every  beast  a  part 

And  fixed  the  lion  in  his  heart  I  C* 


Ko.  211.] 


SPECTATOR. 


505 


mj  thoughts,  I  observed  so  many  unaccountable  humours  in  man, 
that  I  did  not  know  out  of  what  animals  to  fetch  them.  Male 
souls  are  diversified  with  so  many  characters,  that  the  world  has 
not  variety  of  materials  sufficient  to  furnish  out  their  different 
tempers  and  inclinations.  The  creation,  with  all  its  animals  and 
elements,  would  not  be  large  enough  to  supply  their  several  extra- 
vagances. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  pursuing  the  thought  of  Simonides,  I 
shall  observe,  that  as  he  has  exposed  the  vicious  part  of  women 
from  the  doctrine  of  pre-existence,  some  of  the  ancient  philoso- 
phers have  in  a  manner,  satirized  the  vicious  part  of  the  human 
species  in  general,  from  a  notion  of  the  soul's  post  existence,  if  I 
may  so  call  it ;  and  that  as  Simonides  describes  brutes  entering 
into  the  composition  of  women,  others  have  represented  human 
souls  as  entering  into  brutes.  This  is  commonly  termed  the  doc- 
trine of  transmigration,  which  supposes  that  human  souls,  upon 
their  leaving  the  body,  become  the  souls  of  such  kinds  of  brutes 
as  they  most  resemble  in  their  manners ;  or  to  give  an  account  of 
it,  as  Mr.  Dryden  has  described  it  in  his  translation  of  Pythagoras 
his  speech  in  the  fifteenth  book  of  Ovid,  where  that  philosopher 
dissuades  his  hearers  from  eating  flesh. 

Thus  all  things  are  but  alter'd,  nothing  dies, 
And  here  and  there  th'  unbody'd  spirit  flies, 
By  time,  or  force,  or  sickness  dispossessed. 
And  lodges  where  it  Hghts,  in  bird  or  beast. 
Or  haunts  without  till  ready  limbs  it  find. 
And  actuates  those  according  to  their  kind  ; 
From  tenement  to  tenement  is  toss'd : 
The  soul  is  still  the  same,  the  figure  onl}^  lost. 
Then  let  not  piety  be  put  to  flight. 
To  please  the  taste  of  glutton-appetite ; 
But  suffer  inmate  souls  secure  to  dwell, 
Lest  from  their  seats  your  parents  you  expel ; 
With  rabid  hunger  feed  upon  your  kind. 
Or  from  a  beast  dislodge  a  brother's  mind. — V.  239,  &c 
VOL.  V.—22 


506 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  O  11 


[No.  211. 


Plato  iu  the  vision  of  Erus  the  Armenian,  which  I  may  pos- 
sibly make  the  subject  of  a  future  speculation,  records  some  beauti- 
ful transmigrations ;  as  that  the  soul  of  Orpheus,  who  was  musical, 
melancholy,  and  a  womanhater,  entered  into  a  swan ;  the  soul  of 
Ajax,  which  was  all  wrath  and  fierceness,  into  a  lion;  the  soul  of 
Agamemnon,  that  was  rapacious  and  imperial,  into  an  eagle  ;  and 
the  soul  of  Thersites,  who  was  a  mimic  and  a  buffoon,  into  a 
monkey. 

Mr.  Congreve,  in  a  prologue  to  one  of  his  comedies,^  has 
touched  upon  this  doctrine  with  great  humour* 

Thus  Aristotle's  soul,  of  all  that  was, 
May  now  be  damn'd  to  animate  an  ass ; 
*  Or  in  this  very  house,  for  ought  we  know, 

Is  doing  painful  penance  in  some  beau. 

I  shall  fill  up  this  paper  with  some  letters,  which  my  last 
Tuesday's  speculation  has  produced.  My  following  correspond- 
ents will  shew,  what  I  there  observed,  that  the  speculation  of 
that  day  affects  only  the  lower  part  of  the  sex. 

From  my  house  in  the  Strand,  October  30,  1711. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  Upon  reading  your  Tuesday's  paper,  I  find  by  several  symp- 
toms in  my  constitution,  that  I  am  a  bee.  My  shop,  or  if  you 
please  to  call  it  so,  my  cell,  is  in  that  great  hive  of  females  which 
goes  by  the  name  of  the  New-Exchange ;  where  I  am  daily  em- 
ployed in  gathering  together  a  little  stock  of  gain  from  the  finest 
flowers  about  the  town ;  I  mean  the  ladies  and  the  beaus.  I  have 
a  numerous  swarm  of  children,  to  whom  I  give  the  best  education 
I  am  able  :  but,  sir,  it  is  my  misfortune  to  be  married  to  a  drone, 
who  lives  upon  what  I  get,  without  bringing  any  thing  into  the 

'  V 


No.  211.] 


SPECTATOR. 


507 


common  stock.  Now,  sir,  as  on  the  one  hand  I  take  care  not  to 
behave  myself  towards  him  like  a  wasp,  so  likewise  I  would  not 
have  him  look  upon  me  as  a  humble  bee ;  for  which  reason  I  do 
all  I  can  to  put  him  upon  laying  up  provisions  for  a  bad  day,  and 
frequently  represent  to  him  the  fatal  effects  his  sloth  and  negli- 
gence may  bring  upon  us  in  our  old  age.  I  must  beg  that  you 
will  join  with  me  in  your  good  advice  upon  this  occasion,  and  you 
will  for  eVer  oblige 

Your  humble  Servant, 

Melissa.'^ 

Piccadilly,  October  31,  1711. 

Sir, 

"  I  AM  joined  in  wedlock,  for  my  sins,  to  one  of  those  fillies 
who  are  described  in  the  old  poet  with  that  hard  name  you  gave 
us  the  other  day.  She  has  a  flowing  mane,  and  a  skin  as  soft  as 
silk  :  but,  sir,  she  passes  half  her  life  at  her  glass,  and  almost 
ruins  me  in  ribbons.  For  my  own  part,  I  am  a  plain  handicraft 
man,  and  in  danger  of  breaking  by  her  laziness  and  expensiveness. 
Pray,  master,  tell  me  in  your  next  paper,  whether  I  may  not 
expect  of  her  so  much  drudgery  as  to  take  care  of  her  family,  and 
curry  her  hide  in  case  of  refusal. 

"  Your  loving  friend, 

"Barnaby  Brittle." 

CheapsidCy  October  80. 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  I  AM  mightily  pleased  with  the  humour  of  the  cat,  be  so  kind 
as  to  enlarge  upon  that  subject. 

"  Yours  till  death, 

JosiAH  Henpeck." 


"  P.  S.    You  must  know  I  am  married  to  a  Grimalkin.'* 


508 


SPECTATOR,. 


[No.  211. 


Wappinrj,  October  31,  1^7 11. 

"  Ever  since  your  Spectator  of  Tuesday  last  came  into  our 
family,  my  husband  is  pleased  to  call  me  his  Oceana,  because  the 
foolish  old  poet  that  you  have  translated,  says.  That  the  souls  of 
some  women  are  made  of  sea-water.  This,  it  seems,  has  encou- 
raged my  sauce-box  to  be  witty  upon  me.  When  I  am  angj-y,  he 
cries,  Pr'y thee,  my  dear,  *  be  calm ; '  when  I  chide  one  of  my  ser- 
vants, pr'ythe  child,  ^  do  not  bluster.'  He  had  the  impudence 
about  an  hour  ago  to  tell  me,  that  he  was  a  seafaring  man,  and 
must  expect  to  divide  his  life  between  ^  storm  and  sunshine.' 
When  I  bestir  myself  with  any  spirit  in  my  family,  it  is  '  high 
sea '  in  his  house ;  and  when  I  sit  still  without  doing  any  thing, 
his  affairs  forsooth  are  ^wind-bound.'  When  I  ask  him  whether 
it  rains,  he  makes  answer,  it  is  no  matter,  so  that  it  be  ^  far/ 
weather '  within  doors.  In  short,  sir,  I  cannot  speak  my  mind 
freely  to  him,  but  I  either  '  swell '  or  ^  rage,'  or  do  something  that 
is  not  fit  for  a  civil  woman  to  hear.  Pray  Mr.  Spectator,  since 
you  are  so  sharp  upon  other  women,  let  us  know  what  materials 
your  wife  is  made  of,  if  you  have  one.^  I  suppose  you  would 
make  us  a  parcel  of  poor-spirited  tame  insipid  creatures  ;  but, 
sir,  I  would  have  you  to  know,  we  have  as  good  passions  in  us  as 
yourself,  and  that  a  woman  was  never  designed  to  be  a  milksop. 

Martha  Tempest."  L. 

*  Steele  seems  to  have  thought  his  wife  a  Bee,  but  she  was  certainly  of 
the  Grimalkin  family.  Y.  Steele's  Letters,  vol.  i.  ubique.  Addison's  was 
an  Oceana,  but  he  was  at  this  time  unmarried,  and  probably  would  have 
lived  longer  if  he  had  continued  so. — C. 


^o,  213.] 


SPECTATOR. 


509 


No.  213.    SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  3. 

 Mens  sibi  conscia  recti. 

YiRG.  ^n.  i.  608. 

A  good  intention. 

It  is  the  great  art  and  secret  of  Christianity,  if  I  may  use 
that  phrase,  to  manage  our  actions  to  the  best  advantage,  and 
direct  them  in  such  a  manner,  that  every  thing  we  do  may  turn 
to  account  at  that  great  day,  when  every  thing  we  have  done  will 
be  set  before  us. 

In  order  to  give  this  consideration  its  full  weight,  we  may 
cast  all  our  actions  under  the  division  of  such  as  are  in  them- 
selves either  good,  evil,  or  indifferent.  If  we  divide  our  inten- 
tions after  the  same  manner,  and  consider  them  with  regard  to 
our  actions,  we  may  discover  that  great  art  and  secret  of  religion 
which  I  have  here  mentioned. 

A  good  intention  joined  to  a  good  action,  gives  it  its  proper 
force  and  efficacy  ;  joined  to  an  evil  action,  extenuates  its  malig- 
nity, and  in  some  cases,  may  take  it  wholly  away ;  and  joined  to 
an  indifferent  action,  turns  it  to  virtue,  and  makes  it  meritorious 
as  far  as  human  actions  can  be  so. 

In  the  next  place,  to  consider  in  the  same  manner  the  influ- 
ence of  an  evil  intention  upon  our  actions.  An  evil  intention 
perverts  the  best  of  actions,  and  makes  them  in  reality  what  the 
fathers  with  a  witty  kind  of  zeal  have  termed  the  virtues  of  the 
heathen  world,  so  many  ^  shining  sins.'  ^  It  destroys  the  inno- 
cence of  an  indifferent  action,  and  gives  an  evil  action  all  possi- 
ble blackness  and  horror,  or  in  the  emphatical  language  of  sacred 
writ,  makes  ^  sin  exceeding  sinful.' 

If,  in  the  last  place,  we  consider  the  nature  of  an  indifferent 
*  Splendida  peccata. — -C, 


I 


510 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  218. 


intention,  we  shall  find  that  it  destroys  the  merit  of  a  good 
action  ;  abates,  but  never  takes  away,  the  malignity  of  an  evil 
action  ;  and  leaves  an  indifferent  action  in  its  natural  state  of  in- 
difference. 

It  is  therefore  of  unspeakable  advantage  to  possess  our  minds 
with  an  habitual  good  intention,  and  to  aim  all  our  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions,  at  some  laudable  end,  whether  it  be  the  glory 
of  our  Maker,  the  good  of  mankind,  or  the  benefit  of  our  own 
souls. 

This  is  a  sort  of  thrift  or  good  husbandry  in  moral  life,  which 
does  not  throw  away  any  single  action,  but  makes  every  one  go 
as  far  it  can.  It  multiplies  the  means  of  salvation,  increases  the 
number  of  our  virtues,  and  diminishes  that  of  our  vices. 

There  is  something  very  devout,  though  not  so  solid,  in 
Acosta's  answer  to  Limborch,  who  objects  to  him  the  multiplicity 
of  ceremonies  in  the  Jewish  religion,  as  washings,  dresses,  meats, 
purgations,  and  the  like.  The  reply  which  the  Jew  makes  upon 
this  occasion,  is,  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance,  as  follows  : 
"  There  are  not  duties  enough  (says  he)  in  the  essential  parts  of 
the  law  for  a  zealous  and  active  obedience.  Time,  place,  and 
person,  are  requisite,  before  you  have  an  opportunity  of  putting 
a  moral  virtue  into  practice.  We  have  therefore,  says  he,  en- 
larged the  sphere  of  our  duty,  and  made  many  things,  which  are 
in  themselves  indifferent,  a  part  of  our  religion,  that  we  may 
have  more  occasion  of  shewing  our  love  to  God,  and  in  all  the 
circumstances  of  life  be  doing  something  to  please  him. 

Monsieur  St.  Evremont  has  endeavoured  to  palliate  the 
superstitions  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  with  the  same  kind 
of  apology,  where  he  pretends  to  consider  the  different  spirit  of 
the  papists  and  the  calvinists,  as  to  the  great  points  wherein  they 
disagree.  He  tells  us,  that  the  former  are  actuated  by  love,  and 
the  other  by  fear  ;  and  that  in  their  expressions  of  duty  and 
• 


No.  213.] 


SPECTATOR. 


511 


devotion  towards  the  Supreme  Being,  the  former  seem  par- 
ticularly careful  to  do  every  thing  which  may  possibly  please 
him,  and  the  other  to  abstain  from  every  thing  that  may  possibly 
displease  him. 

But  notwithstanding  this  plausible  reason  with  which  both  the 
Jew  and  the  Roman  Catholic  would  excuse  their  respective  super- 
stitions, it  is  certain  there  is  something  in  them  very  pernicious 
to  mankind,  and  destructive  to  religion;  because  the  injunction 
of  superfluous  ceremonies  makes  such  actions  duties,  as  were  before 
indifferent,  and  by  that  means  renders  religion  more  burthen- 
some  and  difficult  than  it  is  in  its  own  nature,  betrays  many  into 
sins  of  omission  which  they  would  not  otherwise  be  guilty  of,  and 
fixes  the  minds  of  the  vulgar  to  the  shadowy  unessential  points, 
instead  of  the  more  weighty  and  more  important  matters  of  the 
law. 

This  zealous  and  active  obedience,  however,  takes  place  in  the 
great  point  we  are  recommending ;  for  if  instead  of  prescribing 
to  ourselves  indifferent  actions  as  duties,  we  apply  a  good  inten- 
tion to  all  our  most  indifferent  actions,  we  make  our  very  exist- 
ence one  continued  act  of  obedience,  we  turn  our  diversions  and 
amusements  to  our  eternal  advantage,  and  are  pleasing  him  (whom 
we  are  made  to  please)  in  all  the  circumstances  and  occurrences 
of  life. 

It  is  this  excellent  frame  of  mind,  this  ^  holy  officiousness,' 
(if  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  it  such)  which  is  recommended  to 
us  by  the  apostle  in  that  uncommon  precept,  wherein  he  directs 
us  to  propose  to  ourselves  the  glory  of  our  Creator  in  all  our  most 
indifferent  actions,  ^  whether  we  eat  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  we  do-.' 

A  person  therefore  who  is  possessed  with  such  an  habitual 
good  intention,  as  that  which  I  have  been  here  speaking  of,  en- 
ters upon  no  single  circumstance  of  life,  without  considering  it  as 
well  pleasing  to  the  great  author  of  his  Being,  conformable  to 


512 


SPECTATOPw. 


[No.  213. 


the  dictates  of  reason,  suitable  to  human  nature  in  general,  or  to 
the  particular  station  in  which  Providence  has  placed  him.  He 
lives  in  a  perpetual  sense  of  the  divine  presence,  regards  himself 
as  acting,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  existence,  under  the  observa- 
tion and  inspection  of  that  Being,  who  is  privy  to  all  his  motions 
and  all  his  thoughts,  who  knows  his  ^  down  sitting  and  his  upri- 
sing, who  is  about  his  path,  and  about  his  bed,  and  spieth  out 
all  his  ways.'  In  a  word,  he  remembers  that  the  eye  of  his  Judge 
is  always  upon  him,  and  in  every  action  he  reflects  that  he  is 
doing  what  is  commanded  or  allowed  by  Him,  who  will  hereafter 
either  reward  or  punish  it.  This  was  the  character  of  those  holy 
men  of  old,  who  in  that  beautiful  phrase  of  scripture,  are  said  to 
have  '  walked  with  God.' 

When  I  employ  myself  upon  a  paper  of  morality,  I  generally 
consider  how  I  may  recommend  the  particular  virtue  which  I 
treat  of,  by  the  precepts  or  examples  of  the  ancient  heathens ;  by 
that  means,  if  possible,  to  shame  those  who  have  greater  advan- 
tages of  knowing  their  duty,  and  therefore  greater  obligations  to 
perform  it,  into  a  better  course  of  life  :  besides  that,  many  among 
us  are  unreasonably  disposed  to  give  a  fairer  hearing  to  a  pagan 
philosopher,  than  to  a  christian  writer. 

I  shall  therefore  produce  an  instance  of  this  excellent  frame 
of  mind  in  a  speech  of  Socrates,  which  is  quoted  by  Erasmus. 
This  great  philosopher  on  the  day  of  his  execution,  a  little  before 
the  draught  of  poison  was  brought  to  him,  entertaining  his 
friends  with  a  discourse  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  has  these 
words  :  ^  Whether  or  no  God  will  approve  of  my  actions,  I  know 
not;  but  this  I  am  sure  of,  that  I  have  at  all  times  made  it  my 
endeavour  to  please  him,  and  I  have  a  good  hope  that  this  my 
endeavour  will  be  accepted  by  him.'  We  find  in  these  words  of 
that  great  man,  the  habitual  good  intention  which  I  would  here 
inculcate,  and  with  which  that  divine  philosopher  always  acted. 


No.  215.] 


SPECTATOR. 


513 


I  shall  only  add,  that  Erasmus,  who  was  an  unbigotted  Roman 
Catholic,  was  so  much  transported  with  this  passage  of  Socrates, 
that  he  could  scarce  forbear  looking  upon  him  as  a  saint,  and 
desiring  him  to  pray  for  him  ;  or  as  that  ingenious  and  learned 
writer  has  expressed  himself  in  a  much  more  lively  manner, 
'  When  I  reflect  on  such  a  speech  pronounced  by  such  a  person, 
I  can  scarce  forbear  crying  out,  Sancte  Socrates^  ora  pro  nobis. 
0,  holy  Socrates,  pray  for  us.'  L. 


No.  215.    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  6. 

 Ingenuas  didicisse  fidelitcr  artes 

Emollit  mores,  nec  sinit  esse  feros. 

Ovid.  De  Ponto  ii.  ix.  47. 

The  lib'ral  arts,  where  they  an  entrance  find, 
Soften  the  manners,  and  subdue  the  mind, 

I  CONSIDER  an  human  soul  without  education,  like  marble  in 
the  quarry,  which  shews  none  of  its  inherent  beauties,  till  the 
skill  of  the  polisher  fetches  out  the  colours,  makes  the  surface 
shine,  and  discovers  every  ornamental  cloud,  spot,  and  vein,  that 
runs  through  the  body  of  it.  Education,  after  the  same  manner, 
w^hen  it  w^orks  upon  a  noble  mind,  draws  out  to  view  every  latent 
virtue  and  perfection,  which,  without  such  helps,  are  never  able 
to  make  their  appearance. 

If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  change  the  allusion  so  soon 

upon  him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  same  instance  to  illustrate 

the  force  of  education,  which  Aristotle  has  brought  to  explain 

his  doctrine  of  substantial  forms,  when  he  tells  us  that  a  statue 

lies  hid  in  a  block  of  marble  ;  and  that  the  art  of  the  statuary 

only  clears  away  the  superfluous  matter,    and   removes  the 
VOL.  v.— 22* 


514 


SPECTATOPv. 


[No.  215. 


rubbish.  The  figure  is  in  the  stone,  the  sculptor  only  finds  it. 
What  sculpture  is  to  a  block  of  marble,  education  is  to  an  human 
soul.  The  philosopher,  the  saint,  or  the  hero,  the  wise,  the  good, 
or  the  great  man,  very  often  lie  hid  concealed  in  a  plebeian,  which 
a  proper  education  might  have  disinterred,  and  have  brought  to 
light.  I  am,  therefore,  much  delighted  with  reading  the  accounts 
of  savage  nations,  and  with  contemplating  those  virtues  which 
are  wild  and  uncultivated ;  to  see  courage  exerting  itself  in  fierce- 
ness, resolution  in  obstinacy,  wisdom  in  cunning,  patience  in  sul- 
lenness  and  despair. 

Men's  passions  operate  variously,  and  appear  in  difi"erent 
kinds  of  actions,  according  as  they  are  more  or  less  rectified  and 
swayed  by  reason.  When  one  hears  of  negroes,  who,  upon  the 
death  of  their  masters,  or  upon  changing  their  service,  hang 
themselves  upon  the  next  tree,  as  it  frequently  happens  in  our 
American  plantations,  who  can  forbear  admiring  their  fidelity, 
though  it  expresses  itself  in  so  dreadful  a  manner  ?  What  might 
not  that  savage  greatness  of  soul,  which  appears  in  these  poor 
wretches,  on  many  occasions,  be  raised  to,  were  it  rightly  culti- 
vated ?  And  what  colour  of  excuse  can  there  be  for  the  contempt 
with  which  we  treat  this  part  of  our  species,  that  we  should  not 
put  them  upon  the  common  foot  of  humanity,  that  we  should 
only  set  an  insignificant  fine  upon  the  man  who  murders  them ;  nay, 
that  we  should,  as  much  as  in  us  lies,  cut  them  ofi"  from  the  pros- 
pect of  happiness  in  another  world,  as  well  as  in  this,  and  deny 
them  that  which  we  look  upon  as  the  proper  means  for  attaining 
it? 

Since  I  am  engaged  on  this  subject,  I  cannot  forbear  mention- 
ing a  story  which  I  have  lately  heard,  and  which  is  so  well 
attested,  that  I  have  no  manner  of  reason  to  suspect  the  truth  of 
it :  I  may  call  it  a  kind  of  wild  tragedy  that  passed  about  twelve 
years  ago  at  St,  Christopher's,  one  of  our  British  Leeward  Islands. 


No.  21 6  J 


SPECTATOR . 


515 


The  negroes  who  were  concerned  in  it,  were  all  of  them  the  slaves 
of  a  gentleman  who  is  now  in  England. 

This  gentleman,  among  his  negroes,  had  a  young  woman,  who 
was  looked  upon  as  a  most  extraordinary  beauty  by  those  of  her 
own  complexion.  He  had  at  the  same  time  two  young  fellows, 
who  were  likewise  negroes  and  slaves,  remarkable  for  the  comeli- 
ness of  their  persons,  and  for  the  friendship  which  they  bore  to 
one  another.  It  unfortunately  happened  that  both  of  them  fell 
in  love  with  the  female  negroe  above-mentioned,  who  would  have 
been  very  glad  to  have  taken  either  of  them  for  her  husband,  pro- 
vided they  could  agree  between  themselves  which  should  be  the 
man.  But  they  were  both  so  passionately  in  love  with  her,  that 
neither  of  them  could  think  of  giving  her  up  to  his  rival :  and  at 
the  same  time  were  so  true  to  one  another,  that  neither  of  them 
would  think  of  gaining  her  without  his  friend's  consent.  The 
torments  of  these  two  lovers  were  the  discourse  of  the  family  to 
which  they  belonged,  who  could  not  forbear  observing  the  strange 
complication  of  passions  which  perplexed  the  hearts  of  the  poor 
negroes,  that  often  dropped  expressions  of  the  uneasiness  they 
underwent,  and  how  impossible  it  was  for  either  of  them  ever  to 
be  happy. 

After  a  long  struggle  between  love  and  friendship,  truth  and 
jealousy,  they  one  day  took  a  walk  together  into  a  wood,  carrying 
their  mistress  along  with  them  ;  where,  after  abundance  of  lam- 
entations, they  stabbed  her  to  the  heart,  of  which  she  immediate- 
ly died.  A  slave,  who  was  at  his  work,  not  far  from  the  place 
where  this  astonishing  piece  of  cruelty  was  committed,  hearing 
the  shrieks  of  the  dying  person,  ran  to  see  what  was  tiie  occasion 
of  them.  He  there  discovered  the  woman  lying  dead  upon  the 
ground,  with  the  two  negroes  on  each  side  of  her  kissing  the 
dead  corpse,  weeping  over  it,  and  beating  their  breasts  in  the  utmost 
agonies  of  grief  and  despair.    He  immediately  ran  to  the  English 


616 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  21  5. 


family  with  the  news  of  what  he  had  seen  ;  who  upon  coming  to 
the  place,  saw  the  woman  dead,  and  the  two  negroes  expiring  by 
her  with  wounds  they  had  given  themselves. 

We  see  in  this  amazing  instance  of  barbarity,  what  strange 
disorders  are  bred  in  the  minds  of  those  men  whose  passions  are 
not  regulated  by  virtue,  and  disciplined  by  reason.  Though  the 
action  which  I  have  recited  is  in  itself  full  of  guilt  and  horror, 
it  proceeded  from  a  temper  of  mind  which  might  have  produced 
very  noble  fruits,  had  it  been  informed  and  guided  by  a  suitable 
education. 

It  is,  therefore,  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  be  born  in  those 
parts  of  the  world  where  wisdom  and  knowledge  flourish ;  though 
it  must  be  confessed,  there  are,  even  in  these  parts,  several  poor 
uninstructed  persons,  w^ho  are  but  little  above  the  inhabitants  of 
those  nations  of  which  I  have  been  here  speaking ;  as  those  who 
have  had  the  advantages  of  a  more  liberal  education,  rise  above 
one  another  by  several  different  degrees  of  perfection.  For,  to 
return  to  our  statue  in  the  block  of  marble,  we  see  it  sometimes 
only  begun  to  be  chipped,  sometimes  rough-hewn,  and  but  just 
sketched  into  an  human  figure  ;  sometimes  we  see  the  man  appear- 
ing distinctly  in  all  his  limbs  and  features,  sometimes  we  find  the 
figure  wrought  up  to  a  great  elegancy,  but  seldom  meet  with  any 
to  which  the  hand  of  a  Phidias  or  a  Praxiteles  could  not  give 
several  nice  touches  and  finishings. 

Discourses  of  morality,  and  reflections  upon  human  nature, 
are  the  best  means  we  can  make  use  of  to  improve  our  minds, 
and  gain  a  true  knowledge  of  ourselves,  and  consequent!}-  to  re- 
cover our  souls  out  of  the  vice,  ignorance,. and  prejudice,  which 
naturally  cleave  to  them.  I  have  all  along  profest  myself  in  this 
paper  a  promoter  of  these  great  ends  :  and  I  flatter  myself  that 
1  do  from  day  to  day  contribute  something  to  the  polishing  of 
men's  minds  ;  nt  least  my  design  is  laudable,  whatever  the  execu- 


No.  219.  ] 


SPECTATOR 


517 


tion  may  be.  I  must  confess  I  am  not  a  little  encouraged  in  it 
by  many  letters  which  I  receive  from  unknown  hands,  in  appro- 
bation of  my  endeavours;  and  must  take  this  opportunity  of 
returning  my  thanks  to  those  who  write  them,  and  excusing  my- 
self for  not  inserting  several  of  them  in  my  papers,  which  I  am 
sensible  would  be  a  very  great  ornament  to  them.  •  Should  I 
publish  the  praises  which  are  so  well  penned,  they  would  do 
honour  to  the  persons  who  write  them ;  but  my  publishing  of 
them  would,  I  fear,  be  a  sufficient  instance  to  the  world,  that  I 
did  not  deserve  them.  C. 


No.  219.    SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  10. 

Vi^  ea  nostra  voco  

Ovid.  Met.  xiii.  141. 

These  I  scarce  call  our  own. 

There  are  but  few  men  who  are  not  ambitious  of  distinguish- 
ing themselves  in  the  nation  or  country  where  they  live,  and  of 
growing  considerable  among  those  with  whom  they  converse. 
There  is  a  kind  of  grandeur  and  respect,  which  the  meanest  and 
most  insignificant  part  of  mankind  endeavour  to  procure  in  the 
little  circle  of  their  friends  and  acquaintance.  The  poorest 
mechanic,  nay,  the  man  who  lives  upon  common  alms,  gets  him 
his  set  of  admirers,  and  delights  in  that  superiority  which  he 
enjoys  over  those  who  are  in  some  respects  beneath  him.  This 
ambition,  which  is  natural  to  the  soul  of  man,  might,  methinks, 
receive  a  very  happy  turn ;  and,  if  it  were  rightly  directed,  con- 
tribute as  much  to  a  person's  advantage,  as  it  generally  does  to 
his  uneasiness  and  disquiet. 

I  shall  therefore  put  together  some  thoughts  on  this  subject, 


618 


SrECTATOR. 


[No.  219. 


"which  1  have  not  met  with  in  other  writers ;  and  shall  set  them 
down  as  they  have  occurred  to  me,  without  being  at  the  pains  to 
connect  or  methodize  them. 

All  superiority  and  pre-eminence  that  one  man  can  have  over 
another,  may  be  reduced  to  the  notion  of  quality,  which,  con- 
sidered at  large,  is  either  that  of  fortune,  body,  or  mind.  The 
first  is  that  which  consists  in  birth,  title,  or  riches ;  and  is  the 
most  foreign  to  our  natures,  and  what  we  can  the  least  call  our 
own  of  any  of  the  three  kinds  of  quality.  In  relation  to  the 
body,  quality  arises  from  health,  strength,  or  beauty ;  which  are 
nearer  to  us,  and  more  a  part  of  ourselves,  than  the  former. 
Quality,  as  it  regards  the  mind,  has  its  rise  from  knowledge  or 
virtue ;  and  is  that  which  is  more  essential  to  us,  and  more  inti- 
mately united  with  us  than  either  of  the  other  two. 

The  quality  of  fortune,  though  a  man  has  less  reason  to  value 
himself  upon  it  than  on  that  of  the  body  or  mind,  is  however  the 
kind  of  quality  which  makes  the  most  shining  figure  in  the  eye 
of  the  world. 

As  virtue  is  the  most  reasonable  and  genuine  source  of 
honour,  we  generally  find  in  titles  an  intimation  of  some  particu- 
lar merit  that  should  recommend  men  to  the  high  stations  which 
they  possess.  Holiness  is  ascribed  to  the  Pope ;  majesty  to 
Kings ;  serenity  or  mildness  of  temper  to  Princes ;  excellence  or 
perfection  to  Ambassadors;  grace  to  Archbishops;  honour  to 
Peers  ;  worship  or  venerable  behaviour  to  Magistrates  ;  rever- 
ence, which  is  of  the  same  import  as  the  former,  to  the  inferior 
Clergy. 

In  the  founders  of  great  families,  such  attributes  of  honour 
are  generally  correspondent  with  the  virtues  of  that  person  to 
whom  they  are  applied  ;  but  in  the  descendants  they  are  too 
often  the  marks  rather  of  grandeur  than  of  merit.    The  stamp 


No.  219.] 


SPECTATOR. 


519 


and  denomination  still  continues,  but  the  intrinsic  value  is  fre- 
quently lost. 

The  death-bed  shews  the  emptiness  of  titles  in  a  true  light. 
A  poor  dispirited  sinner  lies  trembling  under  the  apprehensions 
of  the  state  he  is  entering  on ;  and  is  asked  by  a  grave  attendant, 
how  his  Holiness  does  ?  Another  hears  himself  addressed  to 
under  the  title  of  Highness  or  Excellency,  who  lies  under  such 
mean  circumstances  of  mortality  as  are  the  disgrace  of  human 
nature.  Titles  at  such  a  time  look  rather  like  insults  and  mock- 
ery than  respect. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  honours  are  in  this  world  under  no  regula- 
tion; true  quality  is  neglected,  virtue  is  oppressed,  and  vice 
triumphant.  The  last  day  will  rectify  this  disorder,  and  assign 
to  every  one  a  station  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  his  character ; 
ranks  will  be  then  adjusted,  and  precedency  set  right. 

Methinks  we  should  have  an  ambition,  if  not  to  advance  our- 
selves in  another  world,  at  least  to  preserve  our  post  in  it,  and 
outshine  our  inferiors  in  virtue  here,  that  they  may  not  be  put 
above  us  in  a  state  which  is  to  settle  the  distinction  for  eternity. 

Men  in  scripture  are  called  ^  strangers  and  sojourners  upon 
earth,'  and  life  a  ^pilgrimage.'  Several  heathen,  as  well  as 
Christian  authors,  under  the  same  kind  of  metaphor,  have  repre- 
sented the  world  as  an  inn,  which  was  only  designed  to  furnish 
us  with  accommodations  in  this  our  passage.  It  is,  therefore, 
very  absurd  to  think  of  setting  up  our  rest  before  we  come  to  our 
journey's  end,  and  not  rather  to  take  care  of  the  reception  we 
shall  there  meet  with,  than  to  fix  our  thoughts  on  the  little  con- 
veniences and  advantages  which  we  enjoy  one  above  another  in 
the  way  to  it. 

Epictetus  makes  use  of  another  kind  of  allusion,  which  is 
very  beautiful,  and  wonderfully  proper  to  incline  us  to  be  satis- 
fied with  the  post  in  which  Providence  has  placed  us.    '  We  are 


520 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  219, 


here  (says  he)  as  in  a  theatre,  where  every  one  has  a  part  allotted 
to  him.  The  great  duty  which  lies  upon  a  man  is,  to  act  his  part 
in  perfection.  We  may,  indeed,  say,  that  our  part  does  not  suit 
us,  and  that  we  could  act  another  better.  But  this  (says  the 
philosopher)  is  not  our  business.  All  that  we  are  concerned  in 
is.  to  excel  in  the  part  which  is  given  us.  If  it  be  an  improper 
one,  the  fault  is  not  in  us,  but  in  Him  who  has  ^  cast '  our  seve- 
ral parts,  and  is  the  great  disposer  of  the  drama.^ 

The  part  which  was  acted  by  this  philosopher  himself  was 
but  a  very  indifferent  one,  for  he  lived  and  died  a  slave.  His 
motive  to  contentment  in  this  particular  receives  a  very  great 
enforcement  from  the  above-mentioned  consideration,  if  we  re- 
member that  our  parts  in  the  other  world  will  be  ^  new  cast,'  and 
that  mankind  will  be  there  ranged  in  different  stations  of  superi- 
ority and  pre-eminence,  in  proportion  as  they  have  here  excelled 
one  another  in  virtue,  and  performed  in  their  several  posts  of 
life,  the  duties  which  belong  to  them: 

There  are  many  beautiful  passages  in  the  little  apochryphal 
book,  entitled,  ^  The  Wisdom  of  Solomon,'  to  set  forth  the 
vanity  of  honor,  and  the  like  temporal  blessings  which  are  in  so 
great  repute  among  men,  and  to  comfort  those  who  have  not  the 
possession  of  them.  It  represents  in  very  warm  and  noble  terms 
this  advancement  of  a  good  man  in  the  other  world,  and  the 
great  surprise  which  it  will  produce  among  those  who  are  his 
superiors  in  this.  "  Then  shall  the  righteous  man  stand  in  great 
boldness  before  the  face  of  such  as  have  afflicted  him,  and  made 
no  account  of  his  labours.  When  they  see  it,  they  shall  be 
troubled  with  terrible  fear,  and  shall  be  amazed  at  the  strange- 
ness of  his  salvation,  so  far  beyond  all  that  they  looked  for. 
And  they  repenting  and  groaning  for  anguish  of  spirit,  shall  say 
within  themselves.  This  was  he  whom  we  had  some  time  in  deri- 
1  V.  Epictet.  Eneliirid.    Cap.  23,— C. 


No.  221.] 


SPECTATOR. 


521 


sion,  and  a  proverb  of  reproach.  We  fools  accounted  his  life 
madness,  and  his  end  to  be  without  honour.  How  is  he  nura- 
bered  among  the  children  of  God,  and  his  lot  is  among  the 
saints." 

If  the  reader  would  see  the  description  of  a  life  that  is  passed 
away  in  vanity,  and  among  the  shadows  of  pomp  and  greatness, 
he  may  see  it  very  finely  drawn  in  the  same  place.  In  the  mean 
time,  since  it  is  necessary  in  the  present  constitution  of  things, 
that  order  and  distinction  should  be  kept  up  in  the  world,  we 
should  be  happy,  if  those  who  enjoy  the  upper  stations  in  it, 
would  endeavour  to  surpass  others  in  virtue  as  much  as  in  rank, 
and,  by  their  humanity  and  condescension,  make  their  superiority 
easy  and  acceptable  to  those  who  are  beneath  them ;  and  if,  on 
the  contrary,  those  who  are  in  the  meaner  posts  of  life,  would 
consider  how  they  may  better  their  condition  hereafter,  and,  by 
a  just  deference  and  submission  to  their  superiors,  make  them 
happy  in  those  blessings  with  which  Providence  has  thought  fit 
to  distinguish  them.  .  C, 


No.  221.    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  13. 

 Ab  ovo  • 

Usque  ad  mala  

HoK.  Sat.  3,  L.  i,  v.  6. 
From  eggs  which  first  are  set  upon  the  board, 
To  apples  ripe,  with  which  it  last  is  stor'd. 

When  I  have  finished  any  of  my  speculations,  it  is  my  method 
to  consider  which  of  the  ancient  authors  have  touched  upon  the 
subject  that  I  treat  of.  By  this  means  I  meet  with  some  cele- 
brated thought  upon  it,  or  a  thought  of  my  own  expressed  in 
better  words,  or  some  similitude  for  the  illustration  of  my  sub- 


522 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  221. 


ject.  This  is  what  gives  birth  to  the  motto  of  a  speculation, 
which  1  rather  chuse  to  take  out  of  the  poets  than  the  prose- 
writers,  as  the  former  generally  give  a  finer  turn  to  a  thought 
than  the  latter,  and,  by  couching  it  in  few  words,  and  in  harmo- 
nious numbers,  make  it  more  portable  to  the  memory. 

My  reader  is  therefore  sure  to  meet  with  at  least  one  good 
line  in  every  paper,  and  very  often  finds  his  imagination  enter- 
tained by  a  hint  that  awakens  in  his  memory  some  beautiful  pas- 
sage of  a  classic  author. 

It  was  a  saying  of  an  ancient  philosopher,^  which  I  find  some 
of  our  writers  have  ascribed  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  perhaps  might 
have  taken  occasion  to  repeat  it,  ^  That  a  good  face  is  a  letter  of 
recommendation.'  It  naturally  makes  the  beholders  inquisitive 
into  the  person  who  is  the  owner  of  it,  and  generally  prepossesses 
them  in  his  favour.  A  handsome  motto  has  the  same  efi"ect. 
Besides  that,  it  always  gives  a  supernumerary  beauty  to  a  paper, 
and  is  sometimes  in  a  manner  necessary  when  the  writer  is  en- 
gaged in  what  may  appear  a  paradox  to  vulgar  minds,  as  it  shews 
that  he  is  supported  by  good  authorities,  and  is  not  singular  in 
his  opinion. 

I  n\ust  confess  the  motto  is  of  little  use  to  an  unlearned  read- 
er, for  which  reason  I  consider  it  only  as  '  a  word  to  the  wise.' 
But  as  for  my  unlearned  friends,  if  they  cannot  relish  the  motto, 
I  take  care  to  make  provision  for  them  in  the  body  of  my  paper. 
If  they  do  not  understand  the  sign  that  is  hung  out,  they  know 
very  well  by  it,  that  they  may  meet  with  entertainment  in  the 
house  ;  and  I  think  I  was  never  better  pleased  than  with  a  plain 
man's  compliment,  who,  upon  his  friend's  telling  him  that  he 
would  like  the  Spectator  much  better  if  he  understood  the  motto, 
replied,  ^  Good  wine  needs  no  bush.' 

1  Aristotle,  or,  according  to  some,  Diogenes.  Y.  Diog.  Laert.  lib,  5.  cap. 


ISTo.  221.] 


SPECTATOR. 


523 


I  have  heard  of  a  couple  of  preachers  in  a  country  town, 
who  endeavoured  which  should  out-shine  one  another,  and  draw 
together  the  greatest  congregation.  One  of  them  being  well 
versed  in  the  fathers,  used  to  quote  every  now  and  then  a  Latin 
sentence  to  his  illiterate  hearers,  who  it  seems  found  themselves 
so  edified  by  it,  that  they  flocked  in  greater  numbers  to  this 
learned  man  than  to  his  rival.  The  other  finding  his  congrega- 
tion mouldering  every  Sunday,  and  hearing  at  length  what  was 
the  occasion  of  it,  resolved  to  give  his  parish  a  little  Latin  in  his 
turn  :  but  being  unacquainted  with  any  of  the  fathers,  he  digest- 
ed into  his  sermons  the  whole  book  of  Quce  Genus ^  adding, 
however,  such  explications  to  it  as  he  thought  might  be  for  the 
benefit  of  his  people.  He  afterwards  entered  upon  As  iii  prce- 
senti^  which  he  converted  in  the  same  manner  to  the  use  of  his 
parishioners.  This  in  a  very  little  time  thickened  his  audience, 
filled  his  church,  and  routed  his  antagonist. 

The  natural  love  to  Latin,  which  is  so  prevalent  in  our  com- 
mon people,  makes  me  think  that  my  speculations  fare  never  the 
worse  among  them  for  that  little  scrap  which  appears  at  the  head 
of  them ;  and  what  the  more  encourages  me  in  the  use  of  quota- 
tions in  an  unknown  tongue,  is,  that  I  hear  the  ladies,  whose 
approbation  I  value  more  than  that  of  the  whole  learned  world, 
declare  themselves  in  a  more  particular  manner  pleased  with  my 
Greek  mottoes. 

Designing  this  day's  work  for  a  dissertation  upon  the  two  ex- 
tremities of  my  paper,  and  having  already  dispatched  my  motto, 
I  shall,  in  the  next  place,  discourse  upon  those  single  capital 
letters  which  are  placed  at  the  end  of  it,  and  which  have  afi'orded 
great  matter  of  speculation  to  the  curious.  I  have  heard  various 
conjectures  upon  this  subject.  Some  tell  us  that  C  is  the  mark 
of  those  papers  that  are  written  by  the  Clergyman,  though  others 
ascribe  them  to  the  Club  in  general.    That  the  papers  marked 


524 


SPECTATOR. 


Xo.  221. 


with  R,  were  written  by  my  friend  Sir  Roger.  That  L  signifies 
the  Lawyer,  whom  I  have  described  in  my  second  Speculation ; 
and  that  T  stands  for  the  Trader  or  Merchant :  but  the  letter  X 
which  is  placed  at  the  end  of  some  few  of  my  papers,  is 
that  which  has  puzzled  the  whole  town,  as  they  cannot  think  of 
any  name  which  begins  with  that  letter,  except  Xenophon  and 
Xerxes,  who  can  neither  of  them  be  supposed  to  have  had  any 
hand  in  these  speculations. 

In  answer  to  these  inquisitive  gentlemen,  who  have  many  of 
them  made  inquiries  of  me  by  letter,  I  must  tell  them  the  reply 
of  an  ancient  philosopher,  who  carried  something  hidden  under 
his  cloak.  A  certain  acquaintance  desiring  him  to  let  him  know 
what  it  was  he  covered  so  carefully,  ^  I  cover  it  (says  he)  on  pur- 
pose that  you  should  not  know. '  I  have  made  use  of  these 
obscure  marks  for  the  same  purpose.  They  are,  perhaps,  little 
amulets  or  charms  to  preserve  the  paper  against  the  fascination 
or  malice  of  evil  eyes  :  for  which  reason  I  would  not  have  my 
reader  surprised  if  hereafter  he  sees  any  of  my  papers  marked 
with  a  Q,  a  Z,  a  Y,  &c.  or  with  the  word  Abracadabra.^ 

I  shall,  however,  so  far  explain  myself  to  the  reader,  as  to  let 
him  know  that  the  letters  C,  L,  and  X,  are  cabalistical,  and  carry 
more  in  them  than  it  is  proper  for  the  world  to  be  acquainted 
with.  Those  who  are  versed  in  the  philosophy  of  Pythagoras, 
and  swear  by  the  Tetrachtys,  that  is,  the  number  four,^  will  know 
very  well  that  the  number  ten,  which  is  signified  by  the  letter  X, 
(and  which  has  so  much  perplexed  the  town,)  has  in  it  many 
particular  powers  ;  that  it  is  called  by  platonie  writers  the  com- 

V  A  noted  charm  for  agues,  said  to  have  been  invented  by  Basilides,  an 
heretic  of  the  second  century,  who  thought  that  very  sublime  mj'steriea 
were  contained  in  the  number  865  (not  only  the  da3'3  of  the  3'ear,  but  the 
dififerent  orders  of  celestial  beings,  <fec.),  to  which  number  the  Hebrew  letters 
that  compose  the  word  Abracadabra  are  said  to  amount. — C. 

»  Stanley's  Lives  of  the  Philosophers,  p.  527.  ed.  1687.  fol..— C. 


No.  221.]  SPECTATOR. 


525 


plete  number ;  that  one,  two,  three,  and  four,  put  together,  make 
up  the  number  ten ;  and  that  ten  is  all.  But  these  are  not 
mysteries  for  ordinary  readers,  to  be  let  into.  A  man  must  have 
spent  many  years  in  hard  study  before  he  can  arrive  at  the 
knowledge  of  them. 

We  had  a  robbinical  divine  in  England,  who  was  chaplain 
to  the  Earl  of  Essex  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  that  had  an 
admirable  head  for  secrets  of  this  nature.  Upon  his  taking  the 
doctor  of  divinity's  degree^  he  preached  before  the  university  of 
Cambridge,  upon  the  first  verse  of  the  first  chapter  of  the  first 
book  of  Chronicles,  in  which  (says  he)  you  will  see  the  three  fol- 
lowing words, 

Adam,  Sheth,  Enosh. 
He  divided  this  short  text  into  many  parts,  and  discovering 
several  mysteries  in  each  word,  made  a  most  learned  and  elabo- 
rate discourse.  The  name  of  this  profound  preacher  was  doctor 
Alabaster,  of  whom  the  reader  may  find  a  more  particular  account 
in  Doctor  Fuller's  book  of  English  Worthies.^  This  instance 
will,  I  hope,  convince  my  readers,  that  there  may  be  a  great  deal 
of  fine  writing  in  the  capital  letters  which  bring  up  the  rear  of 
my  paper,  and  give  them  some  satisfaction  in  that  particular. 
But  as  for  the  full  explication  of  these  matters,  I  must  refer 
them  to  time,  which  discovers  all  things.  C. 

1  Adam  signifies  'man;'  Sheth,  'placed;'  Enoch,  *  misery ;' hence  this 
profound  doctor,  (to  use  the  words  of  the  historian  referred  to)  'mined  for 
a  mystical  meaning,'  and  dug  out  this  moral  inference,  that  'man is  placed 
in  misery  or  pain.'    See  Fuller's  Worthies  of  Suffolk,  p.  70. — C. 


526 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  223. 


No.  223.   THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  15. 

O  suavis  anima!  qualem  bonam 
Antehac  fuisse,  tales  cum  sint  reliquiae ! 

Ph^d.  iii.  i.  5. 

O  sweet  soul !  how  good  you  must  have  been  heretofore,  when  your 
remains  are  so  delicioub ! 

When  I  reflect  upon  the  various  fate  of  those  multitudes  of 
ancient  writers  who  flourished  in  Greece  and  Italy,  I  consider 
time  as  an  immense  ocean  in  which  many  noble  authors  are  en- 
tirely swallowed  up,  many  very  much  shattered  and  damaged, 
some  quite  disjointed  and  broken  into  pieces,  while  some  have 
wholly  escaped  the  common  wreck ;  but  the  number  of  the  last 
is  very  small. 

Apparent  rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto. 

ViRG.  JEn.  i.  122. 
One  here  and  there  floats  on  the  vast  abyss. 

Among  the  mutilated  poets  of  antiquity,  there  is  none  whose 
fragments  are  so  beautiful  as  those  of  Sappho.^  They  give  us  a 
taste  of  her  way  of  writing,  which  is  perfectly  conformable  with 
that  extraordinary  character  we  find  of  her,  in  the  remarks  of 
those  great  critics  who  were  conversant  with  her  works  when  they 
were  entire.  One  may  see  by  what  is  left  of  them,  that  she  fol- 
lowed nature  in  all  her  thoughts,  without  descending  to  those  lit- 
tle points,  conceits,  and  turns  of  wit,  with  which  many  of  our 

1  Between  610-580  before  Christ. 

Temperat  Archilochi  musara  pede  mascula  Sappho, 
.  ^oliis  fidlbus  querentem 

Sappho  puellis  de  popularibus. 

UoR.  Ep.  i.  19, 28.  Carm.  ii.  19,  24. 

Of  her  numerous  writings  we  have  only  a  few  fragments,  and  one  entire 
ode  preserved  by  Dionys.  Hal.  and  one  by  Longinus.  The  first  is  given 
in  the  present  paper,  and  the  other  in  No.  229 — V.  Dionysius  Hal.  de  Comp. 
c.  23 — Longinus,  c.  10.  Sappho  has  found  an  ingenious  defender  in  Welcker. 
Sappho  Yon  einem  herschenden  Vorurtheil  befreit.  Gottingen,  1816, 
8vo.— G. 


No.  223.] 


SPECTATOR. 


527 


modern  lyrics  are  so  miserably  infected.  Her  soul  seems  to  have 
been  made  up  of  love  and  poetry ;  she  felt  the  passion  in  all  its 
warmth,  and  described  it  in  all  its  symptoms.  She  is  called  by 
ancient  authors  the  Tenth  Muse  :  and  by  Plutarch  is  compared 
to  Cacusj  the  son  of  Vulcan,  who  breathed  out  nothing  but  flame. 
I  do  not  know  by  the  character  that  is  given  of  her  works,  whe- 
ther it  is  not  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  that  they  are  lost.  They 
were  filled  with  such  bewitching  tenderness  and  rapture,  that  it 
might  have  been  dangerous  to  have  given  them  a  reading.^ 

An  inconstant  lover,  called  Phaon,  occasioned  great  calami- 
ties to  this  poetical  lady.  She  fell  desperately  in  love  with  him, 
and  took  a  voyage  into  Sicily,  in  pursuit  of  him,  he  having  with- 
drawn himself  thither  on  purpose  to  avoid  her.  It  was  in  that 
island,  and  on  this  occasion,  she  is  supposed  to  have  made  the 
Hymn  to  Venus,  with  a  translation  of  which  I  shall  present  my 
reader.  Her  Hymn  was  inefi'ectual  for  the  procuring  that  happi- 
ness which  she  prayed  for  in  it.  Phaon  was  still  obdurate,  and 
Sappho  so  transported  with  the  violence  of  her  passion,  that  she 
was  resolved  to  get  rid  of  it  at  any  price; 

There  was  a  promontory  in  Acarnania  called  Leucate,  on 
the  top  of  which  was  a  little  temple  dedicated  to  Apollo.  In 
this  temple  it  was  usual  for  despairing  lovers  to  make  their  vows 
in  secret,  and  afterwards  to  fling  themselves  from  the  top  of  the 
precipice  into  the  sea,  where  they  were  sometimes  taken  up  alive. 
This  place  was  therefore  called  The  Lover's  Leap ;  and  whether 
or  no  the  fright  they  had  been  in,  or  the  resolution  that  could 
push  them  to  so  dreadful  a  remedy,  or  the  bruises  which  they 

^  The  appUcation  of  the  two  lines  of  Phaedrus  in  the  motto,  has  called 
forth  a  warm  eulogium  from  Warton,  in  his  *  Essay  on  the  Genius  of  Pope.* 
His  supposition  that  both  this  and  the  translation  of  the  ode  preserved  by 
Longinus,  was  corrected  and  altered  by  Addison  himself,  is  a  compliment 
to  his  genius,  at  the  expense  of  his  modesty;  reminding  you  of  the  patron 
of  the  young  poetess  in  Miss  Edge  worth's  Helen. — G. 


628 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  223 


often  received  in  their  fall,  banished  all  the  tender  sentiments  of 
love,  and  gave  their  spirits  another  turn ;  those  who  had  taken 
this  leap  were  observed  never  to  relapse  into  that  passion.  Sap- 
pho tried  the  cure,  but  perished  in  the  experiment. 

After  having  given  this  short  account  of  Sappho  so  far  as  it 
regards  the  following  Ode,  I  shall  subjoin  the  translation  of  it  as 
it  was  sent  me  by  a  friend,"  whose  admirable  pastorals  and  win- 
ter-piece have  been  already  so  well  received.  The  reader  will 
find  in  it  that  pathetic  simplicity  which  is  so  peculiar  to  him,  and 
so  suitable  to  the  Ode  he  has  here  translated.  This  Ode  in  the 
Greek  (besides  those  beauties  observed  by  Madam  Dacier)  has 
several  harmonious  turns  in  the  words,  which  are  not  lost  in  the 
English.  I  must  further  add,  that  the  translation  has  preserved 
every  image  and  sentiment  of  Sappho,  notwithstanding  it  has  all 
the  ease  and  spirit  of  an  original.  In  a  word,  if  the  ladies  have 
a  mind  to  know  the  manner  of  writing  practised  by  the  so  much 
celebrated  Sappho,  they  may  here  see  it  in  its  genuine  and  natu- 
ral beauty,  without  any  foreign  or  affected  ornaments. 

AN  HYMN  TO  YENUS. 
I. 

O,  Venus,  beauty  of  the  skies, 

To  wliom  a  thousand  temples  rise, 

Gaily  false  in  gentle  smiles, 

Full  of  love-perplexing  wiles  : 

O  goddess  !  from  my  heart  remove 

The  wasting  cares  and  pains  of  love. 


»  Mr.  Ambrose  Philips ;  who  was  a  friend  of  our  author,  but  being  a 
"•reat  party-man  drew  upon  himself  much  envy,  and,  of  course,  the  ridi- 
cule of  the  wits  ;  such  of  them,  I  mean,  as  lived  in  connections  opposite  to 
his.  As  a  poet,  however,  he  had  real  merit,  which  consisted  in  a  certain 
natural  turn  of  sentiment  and  expression,  called  by  his  friends,  simplicity^ ; 
and  by  his  enemies,  we  may  be  sure,  insipidity.  The  worst  part  of  his 
character  is  that  he  was  generally  thought  (and  1  believe  on  good  grounds) 
to  have  done  Mr.  Pope  ill-ofiices  with  Mr.  Addison  ;  for  which,  he  is  treat- 
ed b}^  that  poet,  on  many  occasions,  with  great  severity. — H. 


No.  223.1 


SPECTATOR. 


529 


ir. 

If  ever  thou  hast  kindly  heard 
A  song  in  soft  distress  preferr'd, 
Propitious  to  my  tuneful  vow, 
0,  gentle  goddess,  hear  me  now. 
Descend,  thou  bright,  immortal  guest, 
In  all  thy  radiant  charms  confest. 

III. 

Thou  once  didst  leave  Almighty  Jove, 
And  all  the  golden  roofs  above : 
The  car  thy  wanton  sparrows  drew, 
Hov'ring  in  air  they  lightly  flew ; 
As  to  my  bower  they  wing'd  their  way ; 
I  saw  their  quiv'ring  pinions  play. 

IV. 

The  birds  dismist  (while  you  remain) 
Bore  back  their  empty  car  again : 
Then  you,  with  looks  divinely  mild, 
In  ev'ry  heav'nly  feature  smil'd, 
And  ask'd,  what  new  complaints  I  made, 
And  why  I  call'd  you  to  my  aid  ? 

V. 

What  phrenzy  in  my  bosom  raged. 
And  by  what  cure  to  be  assuag'd? 
What  gentle  youth  I  would  allure, 
Whom  in  my  artful  toils  secure  ? 
Who  does  thy  tender  heart  subdue, 
Tell  me,  my  Sappho,  tell  me  who  ? 

VI. 

Tho'  now  he  shuns  thy  longing  arms, 

He  soon  shall  court  thy  slighted  charms  ; 

Tho'  now  thy  off'rings  he  despise, 

He  soon  to  thee  shall  sacrifice ; 

Tho'  now  he  freeze,  he  soon  shall  burn, 

And  be  thy  victim  in  his  turn. 

VII. 

Celestial  visitant,  once  more 
Thy  needful  presence  I  implore  I 
In  pity  come  and  ease  ray  grief. 
Bring  my  distemper'd  soul  relief. 
Favour  thy  suppliant's  hidden  fires, 
And  give  me  all  my  heart  desires. 
VOL.  v.^23 


530 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  225. 


Madam  Dacier  observes,  there  is  something  very  pretty  in  that 
circumstance  of  this  ode,  wherein  Venus  is  described  as  sending 
away  her  chariot  upon  her  arrival  at  Sappho's  lodgings,  to  denote 
that  it  was  not  a  short  transient  visit  which  she  intended  to 
make  her.  This  ode  was  preserved  by  an  eminent  Greek  critic, 
who  inserted  it  entire  in  his  works,  as  a  pattern  of  perfection  in 
the  structure  of  it. 

Longinus  has  quoted  another  ode  of  this  great  poetess,  which 
is  likewise  admirable  in  its  kind,  and  has  been  translated  by  the 
same  hand  with  the  foregoing  one.  I  shall  oblige  my  reader  with 
it  in  another  paper.  In  the  meanwhile,  I  cannot  but  wonder,  that 
these  two  finished  pieces  have  never  been  attempted  before  by 
any  of  our  country -men.  But  the  truth  of  it  is,  the  compositions 
of  the  ancients,  which  have  not  in  them  any  of  those  unnatural 
witticisms  that  are  the  delight  of  ordinary  readers,  are  extreme- 
ly difficult  to  render  into  another  tongue,  so  as  the  beauties  of 
the  original  may  not  appear  weak  and  faded  in  the  translation. 

C. 


No.  225.    SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  17. 

Nullum  immeti  abest  si  sit  prudeiitia  

Juv.  Sat.  X,  365. 

Prudence  supplies  the  want  of  every  good. 

I  HAVE  often  thought  if  the  minds  of  men  were  laid  open,  we 
should  see  but  little  difference  between  that  of  the  wise  man  and 
that  of  the  fool.  There  are  infinite  reveries,  numberless  extrav- 
agances, and  a  perpetual  train  of  vanities  which  pass  through 
both.  The  great  difi'erence  is,  that  the  first  knows  how  to  pick 
and  cull  his  thoughts  for  conversation,  by  suppressing  some,  and 
communicating  others  ;  whereas  the  other  lets  them  all  indiffer- 


No.  225.] 


SPECTATOR. 


531 


ently  fly  out  in  words.^  This  sort  of  discretion,  however,  has  no 
place  in  private  conversation  between  intimate  friends.  On  such 
occasions  the  wisest  men  very  often  talk  like  the  weakest ;  for  in- 
deed the  talking  with  a  friend  is  nothing  else  but  ^  thinking  loud.' 

Tully  has,  therefore,  very  justly  exposed  a  precept  delivered 
by  some  ancient  writers,  that  a  man  should  live  with  his  enemy 
in  such  a  manner  as  might  leave  him  room  to  become  his  friend  ; 
and  with  his  friend  in  such  a  manner,  that  if  he  became  his  ene- 
my, it  should  not  be  in  his  power  to  hurt  him.^  The  first  part  of 
this  rule,  which  regards  our  behaviour  towards  an  enemy,  is  in- 
deed very  reasonable,  as  well  as  very  prudential ;  but  the  latter 
part  of  it,  which  regards  our  behaviour  towards  a  friend,  savours 
more  of  cunning  than  of  discretion,  and  would  cut  a  man  off  from 
the  greatest  pleasures  of  life,  which  are  the  freedoms  of  conversa- 
tion with  a  bosom  friend.  Besides  that,  when  a  friend  is  turned 
into  an  enemy,  and  (as  the  son  of  Sirach  calls  him)  a  bewrayer  of  se- 
crets, the  world  ia  just  enough  to  accuse  the  perfidiousness  of  the 
friend,  rather  than  the  indiscretion  of  the  person  who  confided  in  him.^ 

Discretion  does  not  only  show  itself  in  words,  but  in  all 
the  circumstances  of  action  ;  and  is  like  an  under-agent  of  Provi- 
dence, to  guide  and  direct  us  in  the  ordinary  concerns  of  life. 

There  are  many  more  shining  qualities  in  the  mind  of  man, 
but  there  is  none  so  useful  as  discretion ;  it  is  this,  indeed,  which 
gives  a  value  to  all  the  rest,  which  sets  them  at  work  in  their 
proper  times  and  places,  and  turns  them  to  the  advantage  of  the 
person  who  is  possessed  of  them.  Without  it,  learning  is  pedant^ 
ry,  and  wit  impertinence  ;  virtue  itself  looks  like  weakness ;  the 
best  parts  only  qualify  a  man  to  be  more  sprightly  in  errors,  and 
active  to  hi^  own  prejudice. 

'The  meaniug  is,  a  wise  man  thinks  all  he  says,  and  a  fool  sa^^s  all 
he  thinks. — C. 

2  De  Amicitia,  xvi.— G.  ^Ecclus.  vi.  9.  xxvii.  17.— C. 


532 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  225. 


Nor  does  discretion  only  make  a  man  the  master  of  his  own 
parts,  but  of  other  men's.  The  discreet  man  finds  out  the  talents 
of  those  he  converses  with,  and  knows  how  to  apply  them  to 
proper  uses.  Accordingly,  if  we  look  into  particular  communi- 
ties and  divisions  of  men,  we  may  observe  that  it  is  the  discreet 
man,  not  the  witty,  nor  the  learned,  nor  the  brave,  who  guides 
the  conversation,  and  gives  measures  to  the  society.  A  man 
with  great  talents,  but  void  of  discretion,  is  like  Polyphemus  in 
the  fable,  strong  and  blind,  endued  with  an  irresistible  force, 
which  for  want  of  sight  is  of  no  use  to  him. 

Though  a  man  has  all  other  perfections,  and  wants  discretion, 
he  will  be  of  no  great  consequence  in  the  world ;  but  if  he  has 
this  single  talent  in  perfection,  and  but  a  common  share  of  others, 
he  may  do  what  he  pleases  in  his  station  of  life. 

At  the  same  time  that  I  think  discretion  the  most  useful  tal- 
ent a  man  can  be  master  of,  I  look  upon  cunning  to  be  the  ac- 
complishment of  little,  mean,  ungenerous  minds.  Discretion 
points  out  the  noblest  ends  to  us,  and  pursues  the  most  proper 
and  laudable  methods  of  attaining  them  :  cunning  has  only  pri- 
vate selfish  aims,  and  sticks  at  nothing  which  may  make  them 
succeed.  Discretion  has  large  and  extended  views,  and,  like  a 
well-formed  eye,  commands  a  whole  horizon :  cunning  is  a  kind 
of  short-sightedness,  that  discovers  the  minutest  objects  which 
are  near  at  hand,  but  is  not  able  to  discern  things  at  a  distance. 
Discretion  the  more  it  is  discovered,  gives  a  greater  authority  to 
the  person  who  possesses  it :  cunning,  when  it  is  once  detected, 
loses  its  force,  and  makes  a  man  incapable  of  bringing  about  even 
those  events  which  he  might  have  done  had  he  passed  only  for  a 
plain  man.  Discretion  is  the  perfection  of  reason,  and  a  guide 
to  us  in  all  the  duties  of  life  :  cunning  is  a  kind  of  instinct,  that 
only  looks  out  after  our  immediate  interest  and  welfare.  Discre- 
tion is  only  found  in  men  of  strong  sense  and  good  understand- 


1^0.  225.] 


SPECTATOR. 


533 


ings  :  cunning  is  often  to  be  met  with  in  brutes  themselves,  and 
in  persons  who  are  but  the  fewest  removes  from  them.  In  short, 
cunning  is  only  the  mimic  of  discretion,  and  may  pass  upon  weak 
men  in  the  same  manner  as  vivacity  is  often  mistaken  for  wit,  and 
gravity  for  wisdom. 

The  cast  of  mind  which  is  natural  to  a  discreet  man,  makes 
him  look  forward  into  futurity,  and  consider  what  will  be  his 
condition  millions  of  ages  hence,  as  well  as  what  it  is  at  present. 
He  knows  that  the  misery  or  happiness  which  are  reserved  for  him 
in  another  world,  lose  nothing  of  their  reality  by  being  placed  at 
so  great  a  distance  from  him.  The  objects  do  not  appear  little 
to  him  because  they  are  remote.  He  considers  that  those  plea- 
sures and  pains  which  lie  hid  in  eternity,  approach  nearer  to  him 
every  moment,  and  will  be  present  with  him  in  their  full  weight 
and  measure,  as  much  as  those  pains  and  pleasures  which  he  feels 
at  this  very  instant.  For  this  reason  he  is  careful  to  secure  to 
himself  that  which  is  the  proper  happiness  of  his  nature,  and  the 
ultimate  design  of  his  being.  He  carries  his  thoughts  to  the  end 
of  every  action,  and  considers  the  most  distant  as  well  as  the 
most  immediate  effects  of  it.  He  supersedes  every  little  pros- 
pect of  gain  and  advantage  which  offers  itself  here,  if  he  does  not 
find  it  consistent  with  his  views  of  an  hereafter.  In  a  word,  his 
hopes  are  full  of  immortality,  his  schemes  are  large  and  glorious, 
and  his  conduct  suitable  to  one  who  knows  his  true  interest,  and 
how  to  pursue  it  by  proper  methods. 

I  have,  in  this  essay  upon  discretion,  considered  it  both  as  an 
accomplishment  and  as  a  virtue,  and  have  therefore  described  it 
in  its  full  extent ;  not  only  as  it  is  conversant  about  worldly 
affairs,  but  as  it  regards  our  whole  existence ;  not  only  as  it  is 
the  guide  of  a  mortal  creature,  but  as  it  is  in  general  the  direc- 
tor of  a  reasonable  being.  It  is  in  this  light  that  discretion  is 
represented  by  the  wise  man,  who  sometimes  mentions  it  under 


534 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  22Y. 


the  name  of  discretion,  and  sometimes  under  that  of  wisdom.  It 
is  indeed  (as  described  in  the  latter  part  of  this  paper)  the  great- 
est wisdom,  but  at  the  same  time  in  the  power  of  every  one  to 
attain.  Its  advantages  are  infinite,  but  its  acquisition  easy ;  or, 
to  speak  of  her,  in  the  words  of  the  apocryphal  writer  whom  I 
quoted  in  my  last  Saturday's  paper,^  ^  Wisdom  is  glorious,  and 
never  fadeth  away,  yet  she  is  easily  seen  of  them  that  love  her, 
and  found  of  such  as  seek  her.  She  preventeth  them  that  desire 
her,  in  making  herself  known  unto  them.  He  that  seeketh  her 
early,  shall  have  no  great  travels  :  for  he  shall  find  her  sitting  at 
his  doors.  To  think,  therefore,  upon  her  is  perfection  of  wis- 
dom, and  whoso  watcheth  for  her  shall  quickly  be  without  care. 
For  she  goeth  about  seeking  such  as  are  worthy  of  her,  sheweth 
herself  favourably  unto  them  in  the  ways,  and  meeteth  them  in 
every  thought.'  C. 


No.  227.   TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  20. 

IJ.01  eyd)  ri  ird^o)  ;  ri  6  dvffcroos  ;  ovx  viraKOvcis  ; 
ToLu  fiairav  a7ro5u9  els  Kvixara  rrjua  a\€Vfxai 
"Clirep  TU)s  bvvvus  crKoirid^eTat  ^OXiris  6  ypiirevs* 
KfjKa  jU^  Tro^duo},  r6  76  ^av  rehv  aBu  rervKrai. 

Theoo.  Idyll,  iii.  24. 

Wretch  that  I  am,  ah,  whither  shall  I  go? 
Will  you  not  hear  me,  nor  regard  my  woe? 
I'll  strip  and  throw  me  from  yon  rock  so  high, 
Where  Olpis  sits  to  watch  the  scaly  fry ; 
Should  I  be  drowned,  or  'scape  with  life  away. 
If  cured  of  love,  you,  tyrant,  would  be  gay. 

In  my  last  Thursday's  paper  I  made  mention  of  a  place  called 
the  Lover's  Leap,  which  I  find  has  raised  a  great  curiosity  among 
several  of  my  correspondents.  I  there  told  them  that  this  leap 
was  used  to  be  taken  from  a  promontory  of  Leucas.  This 

^  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  cb.  vi.  v.  12-16. — G* 


No.  227.  J 


SPECTATOR 


535 


Leucas  was  formerly  a  part  of  Acarnania,  being  joined  to  it  by  a 
narrow  neck  of  land,  which  the  sea  has  by  length  of  time  over- 
flowed and  washed  away ;  so  that  at  present  Leucas  is  divided 
from  the  continent,  and  is  a  little  island  in  the  Ionian  Sea. 
The  promontory  of  this  island,  from  whence  the  lover  took  his 
leap,  was  formerly  called  Leucate.  If  the  reader  has  a  mind  to 
know  both  the  island  and  the  promontory  by  their  modern  titles, 
he  will  find  in  his  map  the  ancient  island  of  Leucas  under  the 
name  of  St.  Mauro,  and  the  ancient  promontory  of  Leucate  under 
the  name  of  the  Cape  of  St.  Mauro. 

Since  I  am  engaged  thus  far  in  antiquity,  I  must  observe, 
that  Theocritus  in  the  motto  prefixed  to  my  paper,  describes  one 
of  the  despairing  shepherds  addressing  himself  to  his  mistress 
after  the  following  manner :  '  Alas  !  what  shall  become  of  me  ? 
wretch  that  I  am !  will  you  not  hear  me  ?  I  will  throw  off 
my  clothes,  and  take  a  leap  into  that  part  of  the  sea  which  is 
so  much  frequented  by  Olphis  the  fisherman.  And  though 
I  should  escape  with  my  life,  I  know  you  will  be  pleased  with 
it.'  I  shall  leave  it  with  the  critics  to  determine,  whether  the 
place,  which  this  shepherd  so  particularly  points  out,  was  not 
the  above-mentioned  Leucate,  or  at  least  some  other  lover's  leap, 
which  was  supposed  to  have  had  the  same  effect:  I  cannot 
believe,  as  all  the  interpreters  do,  that  the  shepherd  means 
nothing  further  than  that  he  would  drown  himself,  since  he  rep- 
resents  the  issue  of  his  leap  as  doubtful,  by  adding,  that  if  he 
should  escape  with  his  life,  he  knows  his  mistress  would  be 
pleased  with  it ;  which  is  according  to  our  interpretation,  that 
she  would  rejoice  in  any  way  to  get  rid  of  a  lover  who  was  so 
troublesome  to  her. 

After  this  short  preface,  I  shall  present  my  reader  with 
some  letters  which  I  have  received  upon  this  subject.  The  first 
is  sent  me  by  a  physician. 


536 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  227 


"  Mr.  Spectator, 
"  The  lover's  leap  which  you  mention  in  your  223d  paper, 
was  generally,  I  believe,  a  very  effectual  cure  for  love,  and  not 
only  for  love,  but  for  all  other  evils.  In  short,  sir,  I  am  afraid 
it  was  such  a  leap  as  that  which  Hero  took  to  get  rid  of  her 
passion  for  Leander.  A  man  is  in  no  great  danger  of  breaking 
his  heart,  who  breaks  his  neck  to  prevent  it.  I  know  very  well 
the  wonders  which  ancient  authors  relate  concerning  this  leap  ; 
and  in  particular,  that  very  many  persons  who  tried  it,  escaped 
not  only  with  their  lives,  but  their  limbs.  If  by  this  means  they 
got  rid  of  their  love,  though  it  may  in  part  be  ascribed  to  the 
reasons  you  give  for  it ;  why  may  not  we  suppose  that  the  cold 
bath  into  which  they  plunged  themselves,  had  also  some  share  in 
their  cure  ?  A  leap  into  the  sea,  or  into  any  creek  of  salt  waters, 
very  often  gives  a  new  motion  to  the  spirits,  and  a  new  turn  to 
the  blood  ;  for  which  reason  we  prescribe  it  in  distempers  which 
no  other  medicine  will  reach.  I  could  produce  a  quotation  out 
of  a  very  venerable  author,  in  which  the  phrenzy  produced  by 
love,  is  compared  to  that  which  is  produced  by  the  biting  of  a 
mad  dog.  But  as  this  comparison  is  a  little  too  coarse  for  your 
paper,  and  might  look  as  if  it  were  cited  to  ridicule  the  author 
who  has  made  use  of  it ;  I  shall  only  hint  at  it,  and  desire  you 
to  consider  whether,  if  the  phrenzy  produced  by  these  two  differ- 
ent causes  be  of  the  same  nature,  it  may  not  very  properly  be 
cured  by  the  same  means.  I  am,  sir,  your  most 

Humble  servant  and  well-wisher, 

iEsCULAPIUS." 

"  Mr.  Spectator, 
I  AM  a  young  woman  crossed  in  love.    My  story  is  very 
long  and  melancholy.    To  give  you  the  heads  of  it ;  a  young 
gentleman,  after  having  made  his  applications  to  me  for  three 


No.  227.]  SPECTATOR.  537 

years  together,  and  filled  my  head  with  a  thousand  dreams  of 
happiness,  some  few  days  since  married  another.  Pray  tell  me 
in  what  part  of  the  world  your  promontory  lies,  which  you  call 
*  The  Lover's  Leap,'  and  whether  one  may  go  to  it  by  land  ? 
But,  alas,  I  am  afraid  it  has  lost  its  virtue,  and  that  a  woman  of 
our  times  will  find  no  more  relief  in  taking  such  a  leap,  than  in 
singing  a  hymn  to  Yenus.^  So  that  I  must  cry  out  with  Dido 
in  Dryden's  Virgil, 

Ah !  cruel  Heaven,  that  made  no  cure  for  love ! 

^'  Your  disconsolate  servant, 

Athenais." 

"  Mister  Spictatur, 
"  My  heart  is  so  full  of  loves  and  passions  for  Mrs.  Gwinifrid, 
and  she  is  so  pettish,  and  over-run  with  cholers  against  me,  that 
if  I  had  the  good  happiness  to  have  my  dwelling  (which  is 
placed  by  my  creat-cranfather,  upon  the  pottom  of  an  hill) 
no  farther  distance  but  twenty  mile  from  the  Lofer's  Leap,  I 
could  indeed  indeafour  to  preak  my  neck  upon  it  on  purpose. 
Now,  good  Mister  Spictatur  of  Crete  Prittain,  you  must  know 
it,  there  iss  in  Caernarvanshire  a  fery  pig  mountain,  the  clory 
of  all  Wales,  which  is  named  Penmainmaure,  and  you  must  also 
know  it  iss  no  great  journey  on  foot  from  me ;  but  the  road  is 
stony  and  bad  for  shooes.  Now  there  is  upon  the  forehead  of 
this  mountain  a  very  high  rock  (like  a  parish  steeple)  that  com- 
eth  a  huge  deal  over  the  sea ;  so  when  I  am  in  my  melancholies 
and  I  do  throw  myself  from  it,  I  do  desire  my  fery  good  friend 
to  tell  me  in  his  Spictatur,  if  I  ^hall  be  cure  of  my  griefous 
lofes ;  for  there  is  the  sea  clear  as  the  class,  and  ass  creen  as  the 
leek :  then  likewise,  if  I  be  drown,  and  preak  my  neck,  if  Mrs. 

^  Y.  Sappho's  hymn,  No.  223.--C. 
VOL.   V. — 23* 


538 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  22t 


Gwinifrid  will  not  lofe  me  afterwards.  Pray  be  speedy  in  your 
answers,  for  I  am  in  crete  haste,  and  it  is  my  tesires  to  do  my 
piisiness  without  loss  of  time.  I  remain  with  cordial  affections, 
your  ever  lofing  friend,  Davyth  ap  Shenkyn." 

P.  S.  My  law-suits  have  brought  me  to  London,  but  I 
have  lost  my  causes ;  and  so  have  made  my  resolutions  to  go 
down  and  leap  before  the  frosts  begin ;  for  I  am  apt  to  take 
colds." 

Ridicule,  perhaps,  is  a  better  expedient  against  love  than 
sober  advice,  and  I  am  of  opinion  that  Hudibras  and  Don 
Quixote  may  be  as  effectual  to  cure  the  extravagances  of  this 
passion,  as  any  of  the  old  philosophers.  I  shall  therefore  pub- 
lish, very  speedily,  the  translation  of  a  little  Greek  manuscript, 
which  is  sent  me  by  a  learned  friend.  It  appears  to  have  been  a 
piece  of  those  records  which  were  kept  in  the  little  temple  of 
Apollo,  that  stood  upon  the  promontory  of  Leucate.  The  reader 
will  find  it  to  be  the  summary  account  of  several  persons  who 
tried  the  lover's  leap,  and  of  the  success  they  found  in  it.  As 
there  seem  to  be  in  it  some  anachronisms  and  deviations  from 
the  ancient  orthography,  I  am  not  wholly  satisfied  myself  that  it 
is  authentic,  and  not  rather  the  production  of  one  of  those  Gre- 
cian sophisters,  who  have  imposed  upon  the  world  several  spu- 
rious works  of  this  nature.  I  speak  this  by  way  of  precaution, 
because  I  know  there  are  several  writers  of  uncommon  erudi- 
tion, who  would  not  fail  to  expose  my  ignorance,  if  they  caught 
me  tripping  in  a  matter  of  so  great  moment. 

c. 


No,  229,J 


SPECTATOR 


539 


NO.  229.    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  22. 

 Spirat  adhuc  amor 

Vivuntque  commissi  calores 
JEoliae  fidibus  puellje. 

HoR.  4  0(1.  ix.  10. 

Sappho's  charming  lyre 
Preserves  her  soft  desire, 
And  tunes  onr  ravish'd  souls  to  love. 

Creech. 

Among  the  many  famous  pieces  of  antiquity  which  are  still  to 
be  seen  at  Eome,  there  is  the  trunk  of  a  statue  which  has  lost 
the  arms,  legs,  and  head ;  but  discovers  such  an  exquisite  work- 
manship in  what  remains  of  it,  that  Michael  Angelo  declared  he 
had  learned  his  whole  art  from  it.  Indeed  he  studied  it  so 
attentively,  that  he  made  most  of  his  statues,  and  even  his  pic- 
tures in  that  Gusto,  to  make  use  of  the  Italian  phrase ;  for  which 
reason  this  maimed  statue  is  still  called  Michael  Angelo 's  school.* 

A  fragment  of  Sappho,  which  I  design  for  the  subject  of  this 
paper,  is  in  as  great  reputation  among  the  poets  and  critics,  as 
the  mutilated  figure  above-mentioned  is  among  the  statuaries  and 
painters.  Several  of  our  countrymen,  and  Mr.  Dryden  in  particu- 
lar, seem  very  often  to  have  copied  after  it  in  their  dramatic 
writings,  and  in  their  poems  upon  love. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  occasion  of  this  ode,  the  English 
reader  will  enter  into  the  beauties  of  it,  if  he  supposes  it  to  have 
been  written  in  the  person  of  a  lover  sitting  by  his  mistress.  I 
shall  set  to  view  three  different  copies  of  this  beautiful  original ; 
the  first  is  a  translation  by  Catullus,  the  second  by  Monsieur 

*  The  2'orso  di  Belvidere,  in  the  square  vestibule  of  the  Vatican  (Musec 
Clementino).  It  belonged  to  a  statue  of  Hercules,  by  Apollonius,  son  ot 
Nestor  the  Athenian,  and  was  found  in  the  baths  of  Caracalla. — G. 


540 


SPEC  T  A  TO  R 


[No.  229. 


Boileau,  and  the  last  by  a  gentleman  whose  translation  of  the 
Hymn  to  Venus  has  been  so  deservedly  admired.^ 

AD  LESBIAM. 

nie  mi  par  esse  deo  videtur, 
Ille  si  fas  est,  superare  divos, 
Qui  sedens  adversus  identidem  te, 
Spectat,  et  audit. 

Dulce  ridentem,  misero  quod  omnia 
Eripit  sensus  milii :  nam  simul  te 
Lesbia,  aspexi,  nihil  est  super  mt 
Quod  loquar  amens.^ 

Lingua  sed  torpet,  tenuis  sub  artus 
Flamma  dimanat,  sonitu  suopte 
Tinniunt  aures,  gemina  teguntur 
Lumina  nocte. 

My  learned  reader  will  know  very  well  the  reason  why  one  of 
these  verses  is  printed  in  italic  letter ;  and  if  he  compares  this 
translation  with  the  original,  will  find  that  the  three  first  stanzas 
are  rendered  almost  word  for  word,  and  not  only  with  the  same 
elegance,  but  with  the  same  short  turn  of  expression  which  is  so 
remarkable  in  the  Greek,  and  so  peculiar  to  the  Sapphic  Ode.  I 
cannot  imagine  for  what  reason  Madam  Dacier  has  told  us,  that 
this  Ode  of  Sappho  is  preserved  entire  in  Longinus,  since  it  is 
manifest  to  any  one  who  looks  into  that  author's  quotation  of  it, 
that  there  must  at  least  have  been  another  stanza,  which  is  not 
transmitted  to  us. 

I  Ambrose  Philips.    V.  No.  223.--G. 

-  It  is  wanting  in  the  old  copies,  and  has  been  supplied  by  conjecture  as 
above.  But  in  a  curious  edition  of  Catullus,  published  at  Venice  in  1Y88, 
said  to  be  printed  from  an  ancient  manuscript  newly  discovered,  this  line 
is  given  thus — Voce  loqicendum ! — C. 

The  editor  of  this  *  curious '  edition  was  Corradini  de  Allio,  who  though 
a  learned  man,  stooped  to  play  the  impostor  by  palming  off  his  own  con- 
jectures for  the  readings  of  a  precious  Roman  manuscript. — G. 


No.  229.] 


SPECTATOR . 


54i 


The  second  translation  of  this  fragment,  which  I  shall  here 
cite,  is  that  of  Monsieur  Boileau. 

Heureux!  qui  pr^s  de  toi,  pour  toi  seule  sotipire : 
Qui  joiiit  du  plaisir  de  t'entendre  parler: 
Qui  te  voit  quelquefois  doucement  lui  sourire. 
Les  Dieux,  dans  son  bonheur,  peuvent-ils  I'egaler? 

Je  sens  de  veine  en  veine  une  subtile  flamme 
Courir  par  tout  mon  corps,  si-tot  que  je  te  vois  : 
Et  dans  les  doux  transports,  oh  s'egare  mon  kme, 
Je  ne  saurais  trouver  de  langue,  ni  de  voix. 

Un  nuage  confus  se  repand  sur  ma  vue, 

Je  n'entends  plus;  je  tombe  en  de  douces  langueura  ; 

Et  pale,  sans  haleine,  interdite,  eperdue, 

TJn  frisson  me  saisit,  je  tremble,  je  me  meurs. 

The  reader  will  see  that  this  is  rather  an  imitation  than  a 
translation.  The  circumstances  do  not  lie  so  thick  together,  and 
follow  one  another  with  that  vehemence  and  emotion  as  in  the 
original.  In  short,  Monsieur  Boileau  has  given  us  all  the  poetry, 
but  not  all  the  passion  of  this  famous  fragment.  I  shall  in  the 
last  place  present  my  reader  with  the  English  translation. 

I. 

Blest  as  th'  immortal  Gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 
And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile. 

II. 

'Twas  this  depriv'd  my  soul  of  rest. 
And  rais'd  such  tumults  in  my  breast ; 
For  while  I  gaz'd,  in  transport  tost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost : 

III. 

My  bosom  glow'd ;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame ; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 


542 


SPECTATOR . 


[No.  229. 


IV. 

In  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chill'd ; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrill'a  ; 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play ; 
I  fainted,  sunk,  and  died  away. 

Instead  of  giving  any  character  of  this  last  translation,  I  shall 
desire  my  learned  reader  to  look  into  the  criticisms  which  Lon- 
ginus  has  made  upon  the  original.^  By  that  means  he  will  know 
to  which  of  the  translations  he  ought  to  give  the  preference.  I 
shall  only  add,  that  this  translation  is  written  in  the  very  spirit 
of  Sappho,  and  as  near  the  Greek  as  the  genius  of  our  language 
will  possibly  suffer.'^ 

Longinus  has  observed,  that  this  description  of  love  in  Sap- 
pho is  an  exact  copy  of  nature,  and  that  all  the  circumstances, 
which  follow  one  another  in  such  an  hurry  of  sentiments,  notwith 
standing  they  appear  rejDugnant  to  each  other,  are  really  such  as 
happen  in  the  frenzies  of  love. 

I  wonder  that  not  one  of  the  critics  or  editors,  through  whose 
hands  this  ode  has  passed,  has  taken  occasion  from  it  to  mention 
a  circumstance  related  by  Plutarch.  That  author,  in  the  famous 
story  of  Antiochus,  who  fell  in  love  with  Stratonice,  his  mother- 
in-law,  and  (not  daring  to  discover  his  passion)  pretended  to  be 
confined  to  his  bed  by  his  sickness,  tells  us,  that  Erasistratus,  the 
physician,  found  out  the  nature  of  his  distemper  by  those  symp- 
toms of  love  which  he  had  learnt  from  Sappho's  writings.  Stra- 
tonice was  in  the  room  of  the  love-sick  prince,  when  these  symp- 
toms discovered  themselves  to  his  physician ;  and  it  is  probable 
that  they  were  not  very  different  from  those  which  Sappho  here 

^  Y.  Longinus,  eh.  viii. — G. 

^  As  the  Italian  scholar  may  wish  to  compare  Foscolo's  translation  of 
this  fragment,  I  have  given  it,  together  with  the  text,  in  the  Appendix. 


543 


No.  281.] 


SPECTATOR. 


describes  in  a  lover  sitting  by  his  mistress.  This  story  of  Antio- 
chus  is  so  well  known,  that  I  need  not  add  the  sequel  of  it,  which 
has  no  relation  to  my  present  subject.  0 


No.  231.    SATUEDAY,  NOVEMBER  24. 

0  Pudor  I  0  Pietas  I  

Maet. 

O  Modesty  I  0  Piety ! 

Looking  over  the  letters  which  I  have  lately  received  from 
my  correspondents,  I  met  with  the  following  one,  which  is  written 
with  such  a  spirit  of  politeness,  that  I  could  not  but  be  very  much 
pleased  with  it  myself,  and  question  not  but  it  will  be  as  accept- 
able to  the  reader. 

Mr.  Spectator, 
"  You,  who  are  no  stranger  to  public  assemblies,  cannot  but 
have  observed  the  awe  they  often  strike  on  such  as  are  obliged  to 
exert  any  talent  before  them.  This  is  a  sort  of  elegant  distress, 
to  which  ingenuous  minds  are  the  most  liable,  and  may  therefore 
deserve  some  remarks  in  your  paper.  Many  a  brave  fellow,  who 
put  his  enemy  to  flight  in  the  field,  has  been  in  the  utmost  dis- 
order upon  making  a  speech  before  a  body  of  his  friends  at  home  : 
one  would  think  there  was  some  kind  of  fascination  in  the  eyes  of 
a  large  circle  of  people,  when  darting  all  together  upon  one 
person.  I  have  seen  a  new  actor  in  a  tragedy  so  bound  up  by  it, 
as  to  be  scarce  able  to  speak  or  move,  and  have  expected  he 
would  have  died  above  three  acts  before  the  dagger  or  cup  of 
poison  were  brought  in.    It  would  not  be  amiss,  if  such  an  one 


544 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  231. 


were  at  first  introduced  as  a  ghost,  or  a  statue,  till  he  recovered 
his  spirits,  and  grew  fit  for  some  living  part. 

"  As  this  sudden  desertion  of  one's  self  shews  a  diffidence, 
which  is  not  displeasing,  it  implies  at  the  same  time  the  greatest 
respect  to  an  audience  that  can  be.  It  is  a  sort  of  mute  elo- 
quence, which  pleads  for  their  favour  much  better  than  words 
could  do ;  and  we  find  their  generosity  naturally  moved  to  sup- 
port those  who  are  in  so  much  perplexity  to  entertain  them.  I 
was  extremely  pleased  with  a  late  instance  of  this  kind  at  the 
opera  of  Almahide,  in  the  encouragement  given  to  a  young  sing- 
er, whose  more  than  ordinary  concern  on  her  first  appearance, 
recommended  her  no  less  than  her  agreeable  voice,  and  just 
performance.^  Meer  bashfulness  without  merit  is  aukward  ;  and 
merit  without  modesty,  insolent.  But  modest  merit  has  a 
double  claim  to  acceptance,  and  generally  meets  with  as  many 
patrons  as  beholders. 

I  am,"  ^c.'^ 

It  is  impossible  that  a  person  should  exert  himself  to  advan- 
tage in  an  assembly,  whether  it  be  his  part  either  to  sing  or 
speak,  who  lies  under  too  great  oppressions  of  modesty.  I 
remember,  upon  talking  with  a  friend  of  mine  concerning  the 
force  of  pronunciation,  our  discourse  led  us  into  the  enumeration 
of  the  several  organs  of  speech  which  an  orator  ought  to  have  in 
perfection,  as  the  tongue,  the  teeth,  the  lips,  the  nose,  the  palate, 
and  the  windpipe.  Upon  which,  says  my  friend,  you  have 
omitted  the  most  material  organ  of  them  all,  and  that  is  the 
forehead. 

But  notwithstanding  an  excess  of  modesty  obstructs  the 
tongue,  and  renders  it  unfit  for  its  offices,  a  due  proportion  of  it 

*  Mrs.  Barbier.    V.  Hawkins's  Hist,  of  Music,  vol.  v.  p.  156. — C. 
^  This  letter  was  written  by  Mr.  John  Hughes. — C. 


No.  231.] 


SPECTATOR. 


545 


is  thought  so  requisite  to  an  orator,  that  rhetoricians  have  re- 
commended it  to  their  disciples  as  a  particular  in  their  art. 
Cicero  tells  us,  that  he  never  liked  an  orator,  who  did  not  appear 
in  some  little  confusion  at  the  beginning  of  his  speech,  and  con- 
fesses th'at  he  himself  never  entered  upon  an  oration  without 
trembling  and  concern.  It  is,  indeed,  a  kind  of  deference  which 
is  due  to  a  great  assembly,  and  seldom  fails  to  raise  a  benevo- 
lence in  the  audience  towards  the  person  who  speaks.  My  cor- 
respondent has  taken  notice,  that  the  bravest  of  men  often  appear 
timorous  on  these  occasions  ;  as  indeed  we  may  observe  that 
there  is  generally  no  creature  more  impudent  than  a  coward. 

 Lingua  melior;  sed  frigida  bello 

Dextera  

ViRG.  ^n.  xi.  838. 

Bold  at  the  council  board ; 

But  cautious  in  the  field,  he  shunn'd  the  sword. 

Dryden. 

A  bold  tongue,  and  a  feeble  arm,  are  the  qualifications  of 
Drances  in  Virgil ;  as  Homer,  to  express  a  man  both  timorous 
and  saucy,  makes  use  of  a  kind  of  point,  which  is  very  rarely  to  be 
met  with  in  his  writings  ;  namely,  that  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  dog, 
but  the  heart  of  a  deer.^ 

A  just  and  reasonable  modesty  does  not  only  recommend 
eloquence,  but  sets  off  every  great  talent  which  a  man  can  be 
possessed  of.  It  heightens  all  the  virtues  which  it  accompanies ; 
like  the  shades  in  paintings,  it  raises  and  rounds  every  figure, 
and  makes  the  colours  more  beautiful,  though  not  so  glaring  as 
they  would  be  without  it. 

Modesty  is  not  only  an  ornament,  but  also  a  guard  to  virtue. 

*  in  steadfastness  of  face 

Dog  unabashed,  and  yet  at  heart  a  deer. 

IL.  L  225.— CowPER,  278-9 —G. 


646 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  231. 


It  is  a  kind  of  quick  and  delicate  '  feeling  '  in  the  soul,  which 
makes  her  shrink  and  withdraw  herself  from  every  thing  that  has 
danger  in  it.  It  is  such  an  exquisite  sensibility,  as  warns  her  to 
shun  the  first  appearance  of  every  thing  which  is  hurtful. 

I  cannot  at  present  recollect  either  the  place  or  tim(5  of  what 
I  am  going  to  mention  ;  but  I  have  read  somewhere  in  the  history 
of  ancient  Greece,  that  the  women  of  the  country  were  seized 
with  an  unaccountable  melancholy,  which  disposed  several  of 
them  to  make  away  with  themselves.  The  senate,  after  having 
tried  many  expedients  to  prevent  this  self-murder,  which  was  so 
frequent  among  them,  published  an  edict,  that  if  any  woman 
whatever  should  lay  violent  hands  upon  herself,  her  corpse 
should  be  exposed  naked  in  the  street,  and  dragged  about  the 
city  in  the  most  public  manner.  This  edict  immediately  put  a 
stop  to  the  practice  which  was  before  so  common.  We  may  see 
in  this  instance  the  strength  of  female  modesty,  which  was  able 
to  overcome  the  violence  even  of  madness  and  despair.  The  fear 
of  shame  in  the  fair  sex,  was  in  those  days  more  prevalent  than 
that  of  death. 

If  modesty  has  so  great  an  influence  over  our  actions,  and  is 
in  many  cases  so  impregnable  a  fence  to  virtue,  what  can  more 
undermine  morality  than  that  politeness  which  reigns  among  the 
unthinking  part  of  mankind,  and  treats  as  unfashionable  the 
most  ingenuous  part  of  our  behaviour ;  which  recommends  impu- 
dence as  good  breeding,  and  keeps  a  man  always  in  countenance, 
not  because  he  is  innocent,  but  because  he  is  shameless. 

Seneca  thought  modesty  so  great  a  check  to  vice,  that  he  pre- 
scribes to  us  the  practice  of  it  in  secret,  and  advises  us  to  raise 
it  in  ourselves  upon  imaginary  occasions,  when  such  as  are  real 
do  not  offer  themselves  ;  for  this  is  the  meaning  of  his  precept, 
that  when  we  are  by  ourselves,  and  in  our  greatest  solitudes,  we 
should  fancy  that  Cato  stands  before  us,  and  sees  every  thing  we 


No.  281.] 


SPECTATOR. 


do.  In  short,  if  you  banish  modesty  out  of  the  world,  she  car- 
ries away  with  her  half  the  virtue  that  is  in  it. 

After  these  reflections  on  modesty,  as  it  is  a  virtue,  I  must 
observe,  that  there  is  a  vicious  modesty,  which  justly  deserves  to 
be  ridiculed,  and  which  those  persons  very  often  discover,  who 
value  themselves  most  upon  a  well  bred  confidence.  This  hap- 
pens when  a  man  is  ashamed  to  act  up  to  his  reason,  and  would 
not  upon  any  consideration  be  surprised  in  the  practice  of  those 
duties,  for  the  performance  of  which  he  was  sent  into  the  world. 
Many  an  impudent  libertine  would  blush  to  be  caught  in  a  se- 
rious discourse,  and  would  scarce  be  able  to  shew  his  head,  after 
having  disclosed  a  religious  thought.  Decency  of  behaviour,  all 
outward  show  of  virtue,  and  abhorrence  of  vice,  are  carefully 
avoided  by  this  set  of  shame-faced  people,  as  what  would  dispar- 
age their  gaiety  of  temper,  and  infallibly  bring  them  to  dishon- 
our. This  is  such  a  poorness  of  spirit,  such  a  despicable  cow- 
ardice, such  a  degenerate  abject  state  of  mind,  as  one  would  think 
human  nature  incapable  of,  did  we  not  meet  with  frequent  in- 
stances of  it  in  ordinary  conversation. 

There  is  another  kind  of  vicious  modesty  which  makes  a  man 
ashamed  of  his  person,  his  birth,  his  profession,  his  poverty,  or 
the  like  misfortunes,  which  it  was  not  in  his  choice  to  prevent, 
and  is  not  in  his  power  to  rectify.  If  a  man  appears  ridiculous 
by  any  of  the  aforementioned  circumstances,  he  becomes  much 
more  so  by  being  out  of  countenance  for  them.  They  should 
rather  give  him  occasion  to  exert  a  noble  spirit,  and  to  palliate 
those  imperfections  which  are  not  in  his  power,  by  those  perfec- 
tions which  are ;  or,  to  use  a  very  witty  allusion  of  an  eminent 
author,  he  should  imitate  Caesar,  who,  because  his  head  was  bald^ 
covered  that  defect  with  laurels,  C. 


548 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  288 


No.  233.    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  27. 

 — — Tanquam  haec  sint  nostri  medicina  furoris, 

Aut  Deug  ille  malis  hominum  mitescere  discat. 

YiRG.  Eclog.  X.  60. 
As  if  by  these  my  suff 'rings  I  could  ease, 
Or  by  my  pains  the  god  of  love  appease. 

Dryden. 

I  SHALL,  in  this  paper,  discharge  myself  of  the  promise  I 
have  made  to  the  public,'  by  obliging  them  with  a  translation  of 
the  little  Greek  manuscript,  which  is  said  to  have  been  a  piece 
of  those  records  that  is  preserved  in  the  temple  of  Apollo  upon 
the  promontory  of  Leucate  :  it  is  a  short  history  of  the  lover's 
leap,  and  is  inscribed,  ^  An  account  of  persons,  male  and  female, 
who  offered  up  their  vows  in  the  temple  of  the  Pythian  Apollo, 
in  the  forty-sixth  olympiad,  and  leaped  from  the  promontory  of 
Leucate,  into  the  Ionian  sea,  in  order  to  cure  themselves  of  the 
passion  of  love.' 

This  account  is  very  dry  in  many  parts,  as  only  mentioning 
the  name  of  the  lover  who  leaped,  the  person  he  leaped  for,  and 
relating  in  short,  that  he  was  either  cured,  or  killed,  or  maimed, 
by  the  fall.  It  indeed  gives  the  names  of  so  many  who  died  by 
it,  that  it  would  have  looked  like  a  bill  of  mortality  had  I  trans- 
lated it  at  full  length  ;  I  have  therefore  made  an  abridgment  of 
it,  and  only  extracted  such  particular  passages  as  have  something 
extraordinary,  either  in  the  case,  or  in  the  cure,  or  in  the  fate  of 
the  person  who  is  mentioned  in  it.  After  this  short  preface,  take 
the  account  as  follows. 

Battus,  the  son  of  Menalcas,  the  Sicilian,  leaped  for  Bombyca 
the  musician :  got  rid  of  his  passion  with  the  loss  of  his  right 
leg  and  arm,  which  were  broken  in  the  fall. 

Melissa,  in  love  with  Daphnis,  very  much  bruised,  but 
escaped  with  life. 

»  V.  No.  227.-0. 


No.  233.] 


SPECTATOR. 


549 


Cjnisca,  the  wife  of  ^schines,  being  in  love  with  Lycus ; 
and  jEschines  her  husband  being  in  love  with  Eurilla  (which  had 
made  this  married  couple  very  uneasy  to  one  another  for  several 
years) ;  both  the  husband  and  the  wife  took  the  leap  by  consent ; 
they  both  of  them  escaped,  and  have  lived  very  happily  together 
ever  since. 

Larissa,  a  virgin  of  Thessaly  deserted  by  Plexippus,  after  a 
courtship  of  three  years  ;  she  stood  upon  the  brow  of  the  pro- 
montory for  some  time,  and  having  thrown  down  a  ring,  a  brace- 
let, and  a  little  picture,  with  other  presents  which  site  had  re- 
ceived from  Plexippus,  she  threw  herself  into  the  sea,  and  was 
taken  up  alive. 

N.  B.  Larissa,  before  she  leaped,  made  an  offering  of  a 
silver  Cupid  in  the  Temple  of  Apollo. 

Simaetha,  in  love  with  Daphnis  the  Myndian,  perished  in  the 

fall. 

Charixus,  the  brother  of  Sappho,  in  love  with  Rhodope  the 
courtezan,  having  spent  his  whole  estate  upon  her,  was  advised 
by  his  sister  to  leap  in  the  beginning  of  his  amour,  but  would 
not  hearken  to  her  till  he  was  reduced  to  his  last  talent ;  being 
forsaken  by  Ehodope,  at  length  resolved  to  take  the  leap.  Per- 
ished in  it. 

Aridaeus,  a  beautiful  youth  of  Epirus,  in  love  with  Praxinoe, 
the  wife  of  Thespis,  escaped  without  damage,  saving  only 
that  two  of  his  foreteeth  were  struck  out,  and  his  nose  a  little 
flatted. 

Clero,  a  widow  of  Ephesus,  being  inconsolable  for  the  death 
of  her  husband,  was  resolved  to  take  this  leap,  in  order  to  get 
rid  of  her  passion  for  his  memory ;  but  being  arrived  at  the  pro- 
montory, she  there  met  with  Dimmachus  the  Miletian,  and  after  a 
short  conversation  with  him,  laid  aside  the  thoughts  of  her  leap, 
and  married  him  in  the  temple  of  Apollo. 


550 


SPECTATOil. 


[No.  233. 


N.  B.  Her  widow's  weeds  are  still  to  be  seen  hanging  up  in 
the  western  corner  of  the  temple. 

Olphis,  the  fisherman,  having  received  a  box  on  the  ear  from 
Thestylis  the  day  before,  and  being  determined  to  have  no  more 
to  do  with  her,  leaped,  and  escaped  with  life. 

Atalanta,  an  old  maid,  whose  cruelty  had  several  years  before 
driven  two  or  three  despairing  lovers  to  this  leap ;  being  now  in 
the  fifty-fifth  year  of  her  age,  and  in  love  with  an  officer  of 
Sparta,  broke  her  neck  in  the  fall. 

Hipparchus  being  passionately  fond  of  his  own  wife,  who  was 
enamoured  of  Bathyllus,  leaped  and  died  of  his  fall ;  upon  which 
his  wife  married  her  gallant. 

Tettyx,  the  dancing-master,  in  love  with  Olympia,  an  Athe- 
nian matron,  threw  himself  from  the  rock  with  great  agility,  but 
was  crippled  in  the  fall. 

Diagoi  as,  the  usurer,  in  love  with  his  cook-maid ;  he  peeped 
several  times  over  the  precipice,  but  his  heart  misgiving  him,  he 
went  back  and  married  her  that  evening. 

Cinasdus,  after  having  entered  his  own  name  in  the  Pythian 
records,  being  asked  the  name  of  the  person  whom  he  leaped  for, 
and  being  ashamed  to  discover  it,  he  was  set  aside,  and  not  suf- 
fered to  leap. 

Eunica,  a  maid  of  Paphos,  aged  nineteen,  in  love  with  Eury- 
bates.    Hurt  in  the  fall,  but  recovered. 

N.  B.  This  was  her  second  time  of  leaping. 

Hesperus,  a  young  man  of  Tarentum,  in  love  with  his  mas- 
ter's daughter.  Drowned,  the  boats  not  coming  in  soon  enough 
to  his  relief. 

Sappho  the  Lesbian,  in  love  with  Phaon,  arrived  at  the  tem- 
ple of  Apollo,  habited  like  a  bride  in  garments  as  white  as  snow. 
She  wore  a  garland  of  myrtle  on  her  head,  and  carried  in  her 
hand  the  little  musical  instrument  of  her  own  invention.  After 


No.  233.] 


SPECTATOR. 


551 


having  sung  an  hymn  to  Apollo,  she  hung  up  her  garland  on  ono 
side  of  his  altar,  and  her  harp  on  the  other.  She  then  tucked 
up  her  vestments  like  a  Spartan  virgin,  and  amidst  thousands  of 
spectators,  who  were  anxious  for  her  safety,  and  olffered  up  vows 
for  her  deliverance,  marched  directly  forwards  to  the  utmost 
summit  of  the  promontory,  where  after  having  repeated  a  stanza 
of  her  own  verses,  which  we  could  not  hear,  she  threw  herself 
off  the  rock  with  such  an  intrepidity,  as  was  never  before  ob- 
served in  any  who  had  attempted  that  dangerous  leap.  Many, 
who  were,  present,  related,  that  they  saw  her  fall  into  the  sea, 
from  whence  she  never  rose  again ;  though  there  were  others 
who  affirmed,  that  she  never  came  to  the  bottom  of  her  leap ; 
but  that  she  was  changed  into  a  swan  as  she  fell,  and  that  they 
saw  her  hovering  in  the  air  under  that  shape.  But  whether  or 
no  the  whiteness  and  fluttering  of  her  garments  might  not  deceive 
those  who  looked  upon  her,  or  whether  she  might  not  really  be 
metamorphosed  into  that  musical  and  melancholy  bird,  is  still  a 
doubt  among  the  Lesbians. 

Alcaeus,  the  famous  Lyric  poet,  who  had  for  some  time  been 
passionately  in  love  with  Sappho,  arrived  at  the  promontory  of 
Leucate  that  very  evening,  in  order  to  take  the  leap  upon  her 
account ;  but  hearing  that  Sappho  had  been  there  before  him, 
and  that  her  body  could  be  no  where  found,  he  very  generously 
lamented  her  fall,  and  is  said  to  have  written  his  hundred  and 
twenty-fifth  ode  upon  that  occasion. 

Leaped  in  this  Olympiad  250 

Males,   . 

Females,  

Cured^  

Males,  

Females,  


124 
126 
120 
51 

69  C. 


652 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  286. 


No.  235.    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  29. 

 '■  Pcpulares 

Vincentem  strepitus.  

Hon.  Ars  Poet.  81. 
Awes  the  tumultuous  noises  of  the  pit. 

EOSCOMMON. 

There  is  nothing  which  lies  more  within  the  province  of  a 
Spectator  than  public  shows  and  diversions  ;  and  as  among  these 
there  are  none  which  can  pretend  to  vie  with  those  elegant  en- 
tertainments that  are  exhibited  in  our  theatres,  I  think  it  par- 
ticularly incumbent  on  me  to  take  notice  of  every  thing  that  is 
remarkable  in  such  numerous  and  refined  assemblies. 

It  is  observed,  that  of  late  years,  there  has  been  a  certain 
person  in  the  upper  gallery  of  the  playhouse,  who  when  he  is 
pleased  with  any  thing  that  is  acted  upon  the  stage,  expresses 
his  approbation  by  a  loud  knock  upon  the  benches  or  the  wain- 
scot, which  may  be  heard  over  the  whole  theatre.  This  person 
is  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  the  '  Trunk-maker  in  the 
upper  gallery.'  Whether  it  be,  that  the  blow  he  gives  on  these 
occasions  resembles  that  which  is  often  heard  in  the  shops  of 
such  artizans,  or  that  he  was  supposed  to  have  been  a  real  trunk- 
maker,  who,  after  the  finishing  of  his  day's  work,  used  to  unbend 
his  mind  at  these  public  diversions  with  his  hammer  in  his  hand, 
I  cannot  certainly  tell.  There  are  some,  I  know,  who  have  been 
foolish  enough  to  imagine  it  is- a  spirit  which  haunts  the  upper 
gallery,  and  from  time  to  time  makes  those  strange  noises ;  and 
the  rather,  because  he  is  observed  to  be  louder  than  ordinarj'' 
every  time  the  ghost  of  Hamlet  appears.  Others  have  reported 
that  it  is  a  dumb  man,  who  has  chosen  this  way  of  uttering  him- 
self, when  he  is  transported  with  any  thing  he  sees  or  hears. 
Others  will  have  it  to  be  the  play-house  thunderer,  that  exerts 


No.  236.J 


SPECTATOR 


553 


himself  after  this  manner  in  the  upper  gallery,  when  he  has 
nothing  to  do  upon  the  roof. 

But  having  made  it  my  business  to  get  the  best  information 
I  could  in  a  matter  of  this  moment,  I  find  that  the  Trunk-maker, 
as  he  is  commonly  called,  is  a  large  black  man,  whom  nobody 
knows.  He  generally  leans  forward  on  a  huge  oaken  plant,  with 
great  attention  to  every  thing  that  passes  upon  the  stage.  He  is 
never  seen  to  smile ;  but  upon  hearing  any  thing  that  pleases 
him,  he  takes  up  his  staff  with  both  hands,  and  lays  it  upon  the 
next  piece  of  timber  that  stands  in  his  way  with  exceeding 
vehemence. ;  after  which  he  composes  himself  in  his  former 
posture,  till  such  time  as  something  new  sets  him  again  at 
work. 

It  has  been  observed,  his  blow  is  so  well  timed,  that  the  most 
judicious  critic  could  never  except  against  it.  As  soon  as  any 
shining  thought  is  expressed  in  the  poet,  or  any  uncommon  grace 
appears  in  the  actors,  he  smites  the  bench  or  wainscot.  If  the 
audience  does  not  concur  with  him,  he  smites  a  second  time ;  and 
if  the  audience  is  not  yet  awaked,  looks  round  him  with  great 
wrath,  and  repeats  the  blow  a  third  time,  which  never  fails  to 
produce  the  clap.  He  sometimes  lets  the  audience  begin  the 
clap  of  themselves,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  their  applause  ratifies 
it  with  a  single  thwack. 

He  is  of  so  great  use  to  the  play-house,  that  it  is  said  a  for- 
mer director  of  it,  upon  his  not  being  able  to  pay  his  attendance 
by  reason  of  sickness,  kept  one  in  pay  to  officiate  for  him  'till 
such  time  as  he  recovered  ;  but  the  person  so  employed,  though 
he  laid  about  him  with  incredible  violence,  did  it  in  such  wrong 
places,  that  the  audience  soon  found  out  that  it  was  not  their  old 
friend  the  Trunk-maker. 

It  has  been  remarked,  that  he  has  not  yet  exerted  himself 
with  vigour  this  season  He  sometimes  plies  at  the  opera;  and 
VOL.  v.— 24 


554 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  235. 


upon  Nicoiini's  first  appearance,  was  said  to  have  demolished 
three  benches  in  the  fury  of  his  applause.  He  has  broken  half  a 
dozen  oaken  plants  upon  Dogget ;  ^  and  seldom  goes  away  from 
a  tragedy  of  Shakespear,  without  leaving  the  wainscot  extremely 
shattered. 

The  players  do  not  only  connive  at  this  his  obstreperous 
approbation,  but  very  cheerfully  repair  at  their  own  cost  what- 
ever damage  he  makes.  They  had  once  a  thought  of  erecting  a 
kind  of  Avooden  anvil  for  his  use,  that  should  be  made  of  a  very 
sounding  plank,  in  order  to  render  his  strokes  more  deep  and 
mellow  ;  but  as  this  might  not  have  been  distinguished  from  the 
music  of  a  kettle-drum,  the  project  was  laid  aside. 

In  the  mean  time  while  I  cannot  but  take  notice  of  the  great 
use  it  is  to  an  audience,  that  a  person  should  thus  preside  over 
their  heads,  like  the  director  of  a  concert,  in  order  to  awaken 
their  attention,  and  beat  time  to  their  applauses ;  or,  to  raise  my 
simile,  I  have  sometimes  fancied  the  Trunk-maker  iii  the  upper 
gallery  to  be  like  Yirgil's  ruler  of  the  wind,  seated  upon  the  top 
of  a  mountain,  who,  when  he  struck  his  sceptre  upon  the  side  of  it, 
roused  the  hurricane,  and  set  the  whole  cavern  in  an  uproar.^ 

It  is  certain  the  Trunk-maker  has  saved  many  a  good  play, 
and  brought  many  a  graceful  actor  into  rej)utation,  who  would 
not  otherwise  have  been  taken  notice  of  It  is  very  visible, 
as  the  audience  is  not  a  little  abashed,  if  they  find  themselves 
betrayed  into  a  clap,  when  their  friend  in  the  upper  gallery  does 
not  come  into  it ;  so  the  actors  do  not  value  themselves  upon  the 

*  Thomjis  Dogget  a  celebrated  comic  actor,  for  many  years  joint  mana- 
ger of  Drury-lane  with  Wilkes  and  Colley  Gibber.  He  died  in  1721, 
leaving  a  legacy  to  provide  a  coat  and  badge  to  be  rowed  for,  from  Lon- 
don bridge  to  Chelsea,  by  six  watermen,  yearly,  on  the  first  of  August,  the 
day  of  the  accession  of  George  I.  There  is  a  particular  account  of  him  in 
Gibber's  apology  for  his  own  life. — L. 

»  Mn.  i.  85.— C. 


No.  235.1 


SPECTATOR. 


555 


clap,  but  regard  it  as  a  meer  hrutum  fulmen^  or  empty  noise, 
when  it  has  not  the  sound  of  the  oaken  plant  in  it.  I  know  it  has 
been  given  out  by  those  who  are  enemies  to  the  Trunk-maker,  that 
he  has  sometimes  been  bribed  to  be  in  the  interest  of  a  bad  poet, 
or  a  vicious  player ;  but  this  is  a  surmise  which  has  no  founda- 
tion; his  strokes  are  always  just,  and  his  admonitions  seasonable  ; 
he  does  not  deal  about  his  blows  at  random,  but  always  hits  the 
right  nail  upon  the  head.  That  inexpressible  force  wherewith  he 
lays  them  on,  sufficiently  shews  the  evidence  and  strength  of  his 
conviction.  His  zeal  for  a  good  author  is  indeed  outrageous,  and 
breaks  down  every  fence  and  partition,  every  board  and  plank, 
that  stands  within  the  expression  of  his  applause. 

As  I  do  not  care  for  terminating  my  thoughts  in  barren  spe- 
culations, or  in  reports  of  pure  matter  of  fact,  without  drawing 
something  from  them  for  the  advantage  of  my  countrymen,  I  shall 
take  the  liberty  to  make  an  humble  proposal,  that  whenever  the 
Trunk  maker  shall  depart  this  life,  or  whenever  he  shall  have  lost 
the  spring  of  his  arm  by  sickness,  old  age,  infirmity,  or  the  like, 
some  able-bodied  critic  should  be  advanced  to  this  post,  and  have 
a  competent  salary  settled  on  him  for  life,  to  be  furnished  with 
bamboos  for  operas,  crabtree-cudgels  for  comedies,  and  oaken 
plants  for  tragedy,  at  the  public  expense.  And  to  the  end 
that  this  place  should  be  always  disposed  of  according  to  merit, 
I  would  have  none  preferred  to  it,  who  has  not  given  convincing 
proofs  both  of  a  sound  judgment  and  a  strong  arm,  and  who 
could  not,  upon  occasion,  either  knock  down  an  ox,  or  write  a 
comment  upon  Horace's  art  of  poetry.  In  short,  I  would  have 
him  a  due  composition  of  Hercules  and  Apollo,  and  so  rightly 
qualified  for  this  important  office,  that  the  Trunk-maker  ma»y  not 
be  missed  by  our  posterity.  C. 


656 


SPECTATO  R. 


tNo.  237. 


No.  237.    SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  1. 

Visu  carentem  magna  pars  veri  latet. 

Senec.  in  Oedip. 

The  blind  sec  truth  by  halves. 

It  is  very  reasonable  to  believe,  that  part  of  the  pleasure 
which  happy  minds  shall  enjoy  in  a  future  state,  will  arise  from 
an  enlarged  contemplation  of  the  divine  wisdom  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  and  a  discovery  of  the  secret  and  amazing 
steps  of  Providence,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  time. 
Nothing  seems  to  be  an  entertainment  more  adapted  to  the  nature 
of  man,  if  we  consider  that  curiosity  is  one  of  the  strongest  and 
most  lasting  appetites  implanted  in  us,  and  that  admiration  is 
one  of  our  most  pleasing  passions ;  and  what  a  perpetual  succes- 
sion of  enjoyments  will  be  afforded  to  both  these,  in  a  scene  so 
large  and  various  as  shall  then  be  laid  open  to  our  view  in  the 
society  of  superior  spirits,  who  perhaps  will  join  with  us  in  so 
delightful  a  prospect ! 

It  is  not  impossible,  on  the  contrary,  that  part  of  the  punish- 
ment of  such  as  are  excluded  from  bliss,  may  consist  not  only  in 
their  being  denied  this  privilege,  but  in  having  their  appetites  at 
the  same  time  vastly  increased,  without  any  satisfaction  afforded 
to  them.  In  these,  the  vain  pursuit  of  knowledge  shall,  perhaps, 
add  to  their  infelicity,  and  bewilder  them  in  labyrinths  of  error, 
darkness,  distraction,  and  uncertainty  of  every  thing  but  their 
own  evil  state.  Milton  has  thus  represented  the  fallen  angels 
reasoning  together  in  a  kind  of  respite  from  their  torments,  and 
creating  to  themselves  a  new  disquiet  amidst  their  very  amuse- 
ments :  he  could  not  properly  have  described  the  sports  of 
condemned  spirits,  without  that  cast  of  horror  and  melancholy  he 
has  so  judiciously  mingled  with  them. 


No.  2Z1.] 


SPECTATOR . 


557 


Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retir'd 
In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reason'd  high 
Of  Providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 
Fixt  fate,  freewill,  foreknowledge  absolute, 
And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost. 

Par.  Lost.  B.  ii.  65. 

In  our  present  condition,  which  is  a  middle  state,  our  minds^ 
are,  as  it  were,  chequered  with  truth  and  falsehood ;  and  as  our 
faculties  are  narrow,  and  our  views  imperfect,  it  is  impossible  but 
our  curiosity  must  meet  with  many  repulses.  The  business  of 
mankind  in  this  life  being  rather  to  act  than  to  know,  their  por- 
tion of  knowledge  is  dealt  to  them  accordingly. 

From  hence  it  is,  that  the  reason  of  the  inquisitive  has  so 
long  been  exercised  with  difficulties,  in  accounting  for  the 
promiscuous  distribution  of  good  and  evil  to  the  virtuous  and 
the  wicked  in  this  world.  From  hence  come  all  those  patheti- 
cal  complaints  of  so  many  tragical  events,  which  happen  to  the 
wise  and  the  good ;  and  of  such  surprising  prosperity,  which  is 
often  the  reward  of  the  guilty  and  the  foolish ;  that  reason  is 
sometimes  puzzled,  and  at  a  loss  what  to  pronounce  upon  so 
mysterious  a  dispensation. 

Plato  expresses  his  abhorrence  of  some  fables  of  the  poets, 
which  seem  to  reflect  on  the  gods  as  the  authors  of  injustice; 
and  lays  it  down  as  a  principle,  that  whatever  is  permitted  to 
befal  a  just  man,  whether  poverty,  sickness,  or  any  of  those  things 
which  seem  to  be  evils,  shall  either  in  life  or  death  conduce  to  his 
good.  My  reader  will  observe  how  agreeable  this  maxim  is  to 
what  we  find  delivered  by  a  greater  authority.  Seneca  has  writ- 
ten a  discourse  purposely  on  this  subject,^  in  which  he  takes  pains, 
after  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  to  shew  that  adversity  is  not  in 
itself  an  evil ;  and  mentions  a  notable  saying  of  Demetrius,  ^  That 
nothing  would  be  more  unhappy  than  a  man  who  had  never 

*  De  Constantia  Sapientis,  &c.— C. 


658 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  237. 


known  affliction.'  He  compares  prosperity  to  the  indulgence  of 
a  fond  mother  to  a  child,  which  often  proves  his  ruin ;  but  the  af- 
fection of  the  Divine  Being  to  that  of  a  wise  father,  who  would 
have  his  sons  exercised  with  labour,  disappointment,  and  pain, 
that  they  may  gather  strength,  and  improve  their  fortitude.  On 
this  occasion  the  philosopher  rises  into  that  celebrated  sentiment, 

*  That  there  is  not  on  earth  a  spectacle  more  worthy  the  regard 
of  a  Creator  intent  on  his  works,  than  a  brave  man  superior  to 
his  sufferings  ;^  to  which  he  adds,  ^  That  it  must  be  a  pleasure  to 
Jupiter  himself  to  look  down  from  heaven,  and  see  Cato  amidst 
the  ruins  of  his  country  preserving  his  integrity.' 

This  thought  will  appear  yet  more  reasonable,  if  we  consider 
human  life  as  a  state  of  probation,  and  adversity  as  the  post  of 
honour  in  it,  assigned  often  to  the  best  and  most  select  spirits. 

But  what  I  would  chiefly  insist  upon  here,  is,  that  we  are  not 
at  present  in  a  proper  situation  to  judge  of  the  counsels  by  which 
Providence  acts,  since  but  little  arrives  at  our  knowledge,  and 
even  that  little  we  discern  imperfectly ;  or  according  to  the  ele- 
gant figure  in  holy  writ,  ^  We  see  but  in  part,  and  as  in  a  glass 
darkly.'  It  is  to  be  considered  that  Providence,  in  its  oeconomy, 
regards  the  whole  system  of  time  and  things  together,  so  that  we 
cannot  discover  the  beautiful  connexions  between  incidents  which 
lie  widely  separated  in  time,  and  by  losing  so  many  links  of  the 
chain,  our  reasonings  become  broken  and  imperfect.*  Thus  those 
parts  in  the  moral  world  which  have  not  an  absolute,  may  yet 
have  a  relative  beauty,  in  respect  of  some  other  parts  concealed 
from  us,  but  open  to  His  eyes  before  whom  ^  past,  present,'  and 

*  to  come,'  are  set  together  in  one  point  of  view ;  and  those  events, 
the  permission  of  which  seems  now  to  accuse  His  goodness,  may, 

I  *  From  Nature's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike, 
Tenth  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  that  chain  alike.' 

Essay  on  Man,  1.  245.- -O. 


No.  237.] 


SPECTATOR. 


559 


in  the  consummation  of  things,  both  magnify  his  goodness,  and 
exalt  his  wisdom.  And  this  is  enough  to  check  our  presumption, 
since  it  is  in  vain  to  apply  our  measures  of  regularity  to  matters 
of  which  we  know  neither  the  antecedents  nor  the  consequents, 
the  beginning  nor  the  end. 

I  shall  relieve  my  readers  from  this  abstracted  thought,  by 
relating  here  a  J ewish  tradition  concerning  Moses,  which  seems 
to  be  a  kind  of  parable,  illustrating  what  I  have  last  mentioned. 
That  great  prophet,  it  is  said,  was  called  up  by  a  voice  from 
heaven  to  the  top  of  a  mountain  ;  where,  in  a  conference  with 
the  Supreme  Being,  he  was  permitted  to  propose  to  him  some 
questions  concerning  his  administration  of  the  universe.  In  the 
midst  of  this  divine  colloquy  he  was  commanded  to  look  down  on 
the  plain  below.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  there  issued  out  a 
clear  spring  of  water,  at  which  a  soldier  alighted  from  his  horse 
to  drink.  He  was  no  sooner  gone,  than  a  little  boy  came  to  the 
same  place,  and  finding  a  purse  of  gold,  which  the  soldier  had 
dropped,  took  it  up,  and  went  away  with  it.  Immediately  after 
this  came  an  infirm  old  man,  weary  with  age  and  travelling,  and 
having  quenched  his  thirst,  sat  down  to  rest  himself  by  the  side 
of  the  spring.  The  soldier,  missing  his  purse,  returns  to  search 
for  it,  and  demands  it  of  the  old  man,  who  affirms  he  had  not 
seen  it,  and  appeals  to  heaven  in  witness  of  his  innocence.  The 
soldier,  not  believing  his  protestations,  kills  him.  Moses  fell  on 
his  face  with  horror  and  amazement,  when  the  Divine  Voice  thus 
prevented  his  expostulation  ;  Be  not  surprised,  Moses,  nor  ask 
why  the  Judge  of  the  whole  earth  has  sufi'ered  this  thing  to  come 
to  pass ;  the  child  is  the  occasion  that  the  blood  of  the  old  man 
is  spilt ;  but  know,  that  the  old  man  whom  thou  sawest,  was  the 
murderer  of  that  child's  father."  ^  V. 

^  This  paper,  though  originally  published  without  any  signature,  was 
claimed  for  Addison  by  Tickell.  It  has  since  been  claimed  for  Hughes.  V, 
Hughes's  poems — ed.  of  17.35 — preface. — G, 


560 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  239. 


No.  239.   TUESDAY,  DECEMBER  4. 

 Bella,  horrida  bellal 

ViRG.  jEn.  vi.  86. 

Wars,  horrid  Avars. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  amused  myself  with  considering  the  seve- 
ral methods  of  managing  a  debate,  which  have  obtained  in  the 
world. 

The  first  races  of  mankind  used  to  dispute  as  our  ordinary 
people  do  now-a-days,  in  a  kind  of  wild  logic,  uncultivated  by 
rules  of  art. 

Socrates  introduced  a  catechetical  method  of  arguing.  He 
would  ask  his  adversary  question  upon  question,  till  he  had  con- 
vinced him  out  of  his  own  mouth  that  his  opinions  were  wrong. 
This  way  of  debating  drives  an  enemy  up  into  a  corner,  seizes  all 
the  passes  through  which  he  can  make  an  escape,  and  forces  him 
to  surrender  at  discretion. 

Aristotle  changed  this  method  of  attack,  and  invented  a  great 
variety  of  little  weapons,  called  syllogisms.  As  in  the  Socratic 
way  of  dispute  you  agree  to  every  thing  which  your  opponent  ad- 
vances, in  the  Aristotelic  you  are  still  denying  and  contradicting 
some  part  or  other  of  what  he  says.  Socrates  conquers  you  by 
stratagem ;  Aristotle  by  force  :  the  one  takes  the  town  by  sap, 
the  other  sword  in  hand. 

The  universities  of  Europe,  for  many  3'ears,  carried  on  their 
debates  by  syllogism,  insomuch  that  we  see  the  knowledge  of  sev- 
eral centuries,  laid  out  into  objections  and  answers,  and  all  the 
good  sense  Df  the  age  cut  and  minced  into  almost  an  infinitude  of 
distinctions. 

When  our  universities  found  that  there  was  no  end  of  wrang- 
ling this  way,  they  invented  a  kind  of  argument,  which  is  not  re- 


No.  289.] 


SPECTATOR. 


561 


ducible  to  any  mood  or  figure  of  Aristotle.  It  was  called  the 
Argumentuni  Basilinum^  (others  write  it  Bacilinum  or  Bacu- 
linuni^)  which  is  pretty  well  expressed  in  our  English  word  '  club- 
law.'  When  they  were  not  able  to  confute  their  antagonist,  they 
knocked  him  down.  It  was  their  method,  in  these  polemical  de- 
bates, first  to  discharge  their  syllogisms,  and  afterwards  to  be- 
take themselves  to  their  clubs,  till  such  time  as  they  had  one  way 
or  other  confounded  their  gainsayers.  There  is  in  Oxford  a  nar- 
row defile,  (to  make  use  of  a  military  term,)  where  the  partizans 
used  to  encounter,  for  which  reason  it  still  retains  the  name  of 
*  Logic- Lane.'  I  have  heard  an  old  gentleman,  a  physician,  make 
his  boasts,  that  when  he  was  a  young  fellow,  he  marched  several 
times  at  the  head  of  a  troop  of  Scotists,^  and  cudgelled  a  body 
of  Smiglesians-  half  the  length  of  High- Street  till  they  had  dis- 
persed themselves  for  shelter  into  their  respective  garrisons. 

This  humour,  I  find,  went  very  far  in  Erasmus's  time.  For 
that  author  tells  us,  that  upon  the  revival  of  Greek  letters,  most 
of  the  universities  in  Europe  were  divided  into  Greeks  and  Tro- 
jans. The  latter  were  those  who  bore  a  mortal  hatred  to  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Grecians,  insomuch  that  if  they  met  with  any  who 
understood  it,  they  did  not  fail  to  treat  him  as  a  foe.  Erasmus 
himself  had,  it  seems,  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
party  of  Trojans,  who  laid  him  on  with  so  many  blows  and  buffets, 
that  he  never  forgot  their  hostilities  to  his  dying  day. 

There  is  a  way  of  managing  an  argument  not  much  unlike  the 
former,  which  is  made  use  of  by  states  and  communities,  when 
they  draw  up  a  hundred  thousand  disputants  on  each  side,  and 

*  The  followers  of  Duns  Scotus,  a  celebrated  Franciscan  divine,  born  in 
Northumberland.  From  Oxford  Ts^here  he  was  educated,  he  went  to  Paris, 
where  his  reputation  was  so  high  as  a  disputant,  that  he  acquired  the 
name  of  the  *  Subtle  Doctor.*  His  opposition  to  the  doctrines  of  Thomas 
Aquinas  gave  birth  to  two  parties,  the  Scotistsand  Thomists.  He  died  at 
Cologne  in  1308.— L. 

'  The  followers  of  Smiglpoins.  a  famous  logician  oftheI6th  century. — L. 
VOL.    v.— 24* 


662 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  239. 


convince  one  another  by  dint  of  sword.  A  certain  grand  mon- 
arch^ was  so  sensible  of  his  strength  in  this  way  of  reasoning,  that 
he  writ  upon  his  great  guns — Ratio  ultima  Regum^  ^  The  Logic 
of  Kings ;  '  but,  God  be  thanked,  he  is  now  pretty  well  baffled  at 
his  own  weapons.  When  one  has  to  do  with  a  philosopher  of  this 
kind,  one  should  remember  the  old  gentleman's  saying,  who  had 
been  engaged  in  an  argument  with  one  of  the  Roman  emperors.^ 
Upon  his  friend's  telling  him,  that  he  wondered  he  would  give  up 
the  question,  when  he  had  visibly  the  better  of  the  dispute,  ^  I 
am  never  ashamed,  (says  he,)  to  be  confuted  by  one  who  is  mas= 
ter  of  fifty  legions.' 

I  shall  but  just  mention  another  kind  of  reasoning,  which  may 
be  called  arguing  by  poll ;  and  another,  which  is  of  equal  force, 
in  which  wagers  are  made  use  of  as  arguments,  according  to  the 
celebrated  line  in  Hubibras.^ 

But  the  most  notable  way  of  managing  a  controversy,  is  that 
which  we  call  '  Arguing  by  torture.'  This  is  a  method  of  rea- 
soning which  has  been  made  use  of  with  the  poor  refugees,  and 
which  was  so  fashionable  in  our  country  during  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  that  in  a  passage  of  an  author  quoted  by  Monsieur 
Bayle,  it  is  said,  the  price  of  wood  was  raised  in  England  by 
reason  of  the  executions  that  were  made  in  Smithfield.*  These 
disputants  convince  their  adversaries  with  a  sorites^  commonly 
called  a  pile  of  faggots.    The  rack  is  also  a  kind  of  syllogism 

1  Lewis  XIV.— L. 

'  The  emperor  Adrian — V.  Lord  Bacon's  Apophthegms,  iii.  284,  fol. — C. 

^  '  Quoth  she,  I've  heard  old  cunning  stagers 
Say,  fools  for  arguments  use  wagers.' 

Hud.  Part  II.  c.  1.  v.  297. 

Steele  has  carried  out  this  idea  in  No.  145,  with  great  humour. — G. 

*  Y.  Bayle— art.  And.  Ammonius.  Addison,  though  he  is  said  to  have  beeu 
almost  always  found  by  his  printer  with  Bayle  open  on  his  table,  seems, 
on  this  occasion,  to  have  quoted  him  from  memory,  for  it  was  not  to  Mary's 
reign  but  to  Henry  Vlllth's,  that  this  was  applied. — G. 

^  A  mrite  is  'an  abridged  form  of  argument  consiJ^tins:  of  several  syllo 
gisms/    Y.  Tappan's  Logic,  Book  ITT.  ^ec.  xi. — G. 


No.  239.] 


SPECTATOR. 


563 


which  has  been  used  with  good  effect,  and  has  made  multitudes 
of  converts.  Men  were  formerly  disputed  out  of  their  doubts, 
reconciled  to  truth  by  force  of  reason,  and  won  over  to  opinions 
by  the  candor,  sense,  and  ingenuity  of  those  who  had  the  right 
on  their  side;  but  this  method  of  conviction  operated  too  slow- 
ly. Pain  was  found  to  be  much  more  enlightening  than  reason. 
Every  scruple  was  looked  upon  as  obstinacy,  and  not  to  be  re- 
moved but  by  several  engines  invented  for  that  purpose.  In  a 
word,  the  application  of  whips,  racks,  gibbets,  gallies,  dungeons, 
fire  and  faggot,  in  a  dispute,  may  be  looked  upon  as  popish  re- 
finements upon  the  old  heathen  logic. 

There  is  another  way  of  reasoning  which  seldom  fails,  though 
it  be  of  a  quite  different  nature  to  that  I  have  last  mentioned,  I 
mean,  convincing  a  man  by  ready  money,  or,  as  it  is  ordinarily 
called,  bribing  a  man  to  an  opinion.  This  method  has  often 
proved  successful,  when  all  the  others  have  been  made  use  of  to 
no  purpose.  A  man  who  is  furnished  with  arguments  from  the 
mint,  will  convince  the  antagonist  much  sooner  than  one  who 
draws  them  from  reason  and  philosophy.  Gold  is  a  wonderful 
clearer  of  the  understanding ;  it  dissipates  every  doubt  and  scru- 
ple in  an  instant ;  accommodates  itself  to  the  meanest  capacities ; 
silences  the  loud  and  clamorous,  and  brings  over  the  most  obsti- 
nate and  inflexible.  Philip  of  Macedon  was  a  man  of  most  in- 
vincible reason  this  way.  He  refuted  by  it  all  the  wisdom  of 
Athens,  confounded  their  statesmen,  struck  their  orators  dumb, 
and  at  length  argued  them  out  of  all  their  liberties.^ 

Having  here  touched  upon  the  several  methods  of  disputing, 
as  they  have  prevailed  in  different  ages  of  the  world,  I  shall  very 
suddenly  give  my  reader  an  account  of  the  whole  art  of  cavil- 
ling ;  which  shall  be  a  full  satisfactory  answer  to  all  such  papers 
and  pamphlets  as  have  vet  appeared  against  the  Spectator. 

C. 

'  Addison  seeins  to  have  forgotten  Demosthenes. — G 


664 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  241 


No.  241.   THURSDAY,  DECEMBER  6. 

 Semperquo  relinqui 

Sola  sibi,  semper  longam  incomitata  videtur 
Ire  viam  

ViEG.  Mn.  iv.  466. 

 Slie  seems  alone 

To  wander  In  her  sleep  through  ways  unknown, 
(ruideless  and  dark. 

Dkyden. 

Mr.  Spectator j 
Though  you  have  considered  virtuous  love  in  most  of  its 
distresses,  I  do  not  remember  that  you  have  given  us  any  dis- 
sertation upon  the  absence  of  lovers,  or  laid  down  any  methods 
how  they  should  support  themselves  under  those  long  separations 
which  they  are  sometimes  forced  to  undergo.  I  am  at  present 
in  this  unhappy  circumstance,  having  parted  with  the  best  of 
husbands,  who  is  abroad  in  the  service  of  his  country,  and  may 
not  possibly  return  for  some  years.  His  warm  and  generous 
affection  while  we  were  together,  with  the  tenderness  which  he 
expressed  to  me  at  parting,  make  his  absence  almost  insupport- 
able. I  think  of  him  every  moment  of  the  day,  and  meet  him 
every  night  in  my  dreams.  Every  thing  I  see  puts  me  in  mind 
of  him.  I  apply  myself  with  more  than  ordinary  diligence  to  the 
care  of  his  family  and  estate  ;  but  this,  instead  of  relieving  me, 
gives  me  but  so  many  occasions  of  wishing  for  his  return.  I  fre- 
quent the  rooms  where  I  used  to  converse  with  him,  and  not 
meeting  him  there,  sit  down  in  his  chair,  and  fall  a  weeping.  I 
love  to  read  the  books  he  delighted  in,  and  to  converse  with  the 
persons  whom  he  esteemed.  I  visit  his  picture  a  hundred  times 
a  day,  and  place  myself  over-against  it  whole  hours  together.  I 
pass  a  great  part  of  my  time  in  the  walks  where  I  used  to  lean 
upon  his  arm,  and  recollect  in  my  mind  the  discourses  which  have 


No.  241.] 


SPECTATOR . 


565 


there  passed  between  us :  I  look  over  the  several  prospects  and 
points  of  view  which  we  used  to  survey  together,  fix  my  eyes 
upon  the  objects  which  he  has  made  me  take  notice  of,  and  call 
to  mind  a  thousand  agreeable  remarks  which  he  has  made  on 
those  occasions.  I  write  to  him  by  every  conveyance,  and,  con- 
trary to  other  people,  am  always  in  good  humour  when  an  east 
wind  blows,  because  it  seldom  fails  of  bringing  me  a  letter  from 
him.  Let  me  entreat  you,  sir,  to  give  me  your  advice  upon  this 
occasion,  and  to  let  me  know  how  I  may  relieve  myself  in  this 
my  widowhood. 

"  I  am,  sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

"  ASTERIA." 

Absence  is  what  the  poets  call  death  in  love,  and  has  given 
occasion  to  abundance  of  beautiful  complaints  in  those  authors 
who  have  treated  of  this  passion  in  verse.     Ovid's  Epistles  are 
.  full  of  them.     Otway's  Monimia  talks  very  tenderly  upon  this 
subject. 

 It  was  not  kind 

To  leave  me,  like  a  turtle,  here  alone, 
To  droop,  and  mourn  the  absence  of  my  mate. 
"When  thou  art  from  me,  every  place  is  desert : 
And  I  methinks  am  savage  and  forlorn. 
Thy  presence  only  'tis  can  make  me  blessed. 
Heal  my  unquiet  mind,  and  tune  my  soul. 

The  consolations  of  lovers  on  these  occasions  are  very  extra- 
ordinary. Besides  those  mentioned  by  Asteria,  there  are  many 
other  motives  of  comfort,  which  are  made  use  of  by  absent 
lovers. 

I  remember  in  one  of  Scudery's  Romances,  a  couple  of  hon- 
ourable lovers  agreed  at  their  parting  to  set  aside  one  half  horn- 
in  the  day  to  think  of  each  other  during  a  tedious  absence.  The 
romance  tells  us,  that  they  both  of  them  punctually  observed  the 


666 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  24L 


time  thus  agreed  upon  ;  and  that  whatever  company  or  business 
they  were  engaged  in,  they  left  it  abruptly  as  soon  as  the  clock 
warned  them  to  retire.  The  romance  further  adds,  that  the 
lovers  expected  the  return  of  this  stated  hour  with  as  much  im- 
patience, as  if  it  had  been  a  real  assignation,  and  enjoyed  an  im- 
aginary happiness  that  was  almost  as  pleasing  to  them  as  what 
they  would  have  found  from  a  real  meeting.  It  was  an  inexpres- 
sible satisfaction  to  these  divided  lovers,  to  be  assured  that  each 
was  at  the  same  time  employed  in  the  same  kind  of  contempla- 
tion, and  making  equal  returns  of  tenderness  and  affection. 

If  I  may  be  allowed  to  mention  a  more  serious  expedient  for 
the  alleviating  of  absence,  I  shall  take  notice  of  one  which  I 
have  known  two  persons  practise,  who  joined  religion  to  that 
elegance  of  sentiments  with  which  the  passion  of  love  generally 
inspires  its  votaries.  This  was,  at  the  return  of  such  an  hour, 
to  offer  up  a  certain  prayer  for  each  other,  which  they  had  agreed 
upon  before  their  parting.  The  husband,  who  is  a  man  that 
makes  a  figure  in  the  polite  world,  as  well  as  in  his  own  family, 
has  often  told  me,  that  he  could  not  have  supported  an  absence 
of  three  years  without  this  expedient. 

Strada,  in  one  of  his  prolusions,^  gives  an  account  of  a  chime- 
rical correspondence  between  two  friends  by  the  help  of  a  certain 
loadstone,  which  had  such  a  virtue  in  it,  that  if  it  touched  two 
several  needles,  when  one  of  the  needles  so  touched  began  to 
move,  the  other,  though  at  never  so  great  a  distance,  moved  at 
the  same  time  and  in  the  same  manner.  He  tells  us,  that  the 
two  friends,  being  each  of  them  possessed  of  one  of  these  needles, 
made  a  kind  of  dial-plate,  inscribing  it  with  the  four-and  twenty 
letters,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  hours  of  the  day  are  marked 
upon  the  ordinary  dial-plate.    They  tJien  fixed  one  of  the  nee- 

»  Lib.  IT.  prol.  i\    See  the  Guardian,  "N'os.  115,  119,  122.-0. 


No.  241.] 


SPECTATOR. 


567 


dies  on  each  of  these  plates  in  such  a  manner,  that  it  could  move 
round  without  impediment,  so  as  to  touch  any  of  the  four-and- 
twenty  letters.  Upon  their  separating  from  one  another  into 
distant  countries,  they  agreed  to  withdraw  themselves  punctually 
into  their  closets  at  a  certain  hour  of  the  day,  and  to  converse 
with  one  another  by  means  of  this  their  invention.  Accordingly, 
when  they  were  some  hundred  miles  asunder,  each  of  them  shut 
himself  up  in  his  closet  at  the  time  appointed,  and  immediately 
cast  his  eye  upon  his  dial-plate.  If  he  had  a  mind  to  write  any 
thing  to  his  friend,  he  directed  his  needle  to  every  letter  that 
formed  the  words  which  he  had  occasion  for,  making  a  little 
pause  at  the  end  of  every  word  or  sentence,  to  avoid  confusion. 
The  friend,  in  the  mean  while,  saw  his  own  sympathetic  needle 
moving  of  itself  to  every  letter  which  that  of  his  correspondent 
pointed  at.  By  this  means  they  talked  together  across  a  whole 
continent,  and  conveyed  their  thoughts  to  one  another  in  an  in- 
stant, over  cities  or  mountains,  seas  or  deserts. 

If  Monsieur  Scudery,  or  any  other  writer  of  romance,  had 
introduced  a  necromancer,  who  is  generally  in  the  train  of  a 
knight-errant,  making  a  present  to  two  lovers  of  a  couple  of  these 
abovementioned  needles,  the  reader  would  not  have  been  a  little 
pleased  to  have  seen  them  corresponding  with  one  another  when 
they  were  guarded  by  spies  and  watches,  or  separated  by  castles 
and  adventures. 

In  the  mean  while,  if  ever  this  invention  should  be  revived,  or 
put  in  practise,  I  would  propose,  that  upon  the  lover's  dial-plate 
there  should  be  written  not  only  the  four-and-twenty  letters,  but 
several  entire  words  which  have  always  a  place  in  passionate 
epistles,  as  flames^  clarts^  die^  languish^  absence^  Cupid^  hearty 
eyes^  hang^  drovjn^  and  the  like.  This  would  very  much  abridge 
the  lover's  pains  in  this  way  of  writing  a  letter,  as  it  would  enable 
him  to  express  the  most  useful  and  significant  words  with  a  single 
touch  of  the  needle.  C. 


568 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  24S. 


No.  243.    SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  8. 

Formam  quidem  ipsam,  Marco  fili,  et  tanquam  faciem  honesti  vides:  quae  si  ocnlis 
cerneretur,  mirabiles  amores  (ut  ait  Plato)  excitaret  sapientiae. 

TuLL.  Offic.  1.  i.  c.  V. 
You  see,  my  son  Marcus,  the  very  shape  and  countenance,  as  it  were,  of  virtue :  which, 
if  it  could  be  made  the  object  of  sight,  would  (as  Plato  says)  excite  in  us  a 
wonderful  love  of  wisdom. 

I  DO  not  remember  to  have  read  any  discourse  written  ex- 
pressly upon  the  beauty  and  loveliness  of  virtue,  without  consi^ 
dering  it  as  a  duty,  and  as  the  means  of  making  us  happy  both 
now  and  hereafter.  I  design,  therefore,  this  speculation  as  an 
essay  upon  that  subject,  in  which  I  shall  consider  virtue  no  further 
than  as  it  is  in  itself  of  an  amiable  nature,  after  having  premised, 
that  I  understand  by  the  word  virtue  such  a  general  notion  as  is 
affixed  to  it  by  the  writers  of  morality,  and  which  by  devout  men 
generally  goes  under  the  name  of  Religion,  and  by  men  of  the 
world  under  the  name  of  honour. 

Hypocrisy  itself  does  great  honour,  or  rather  justice,  to  reli- 
gion, and  tacitly  acknowledges  it  to  be  an  ornament  to  human 
nature.  The  hypocrite  would  not  be  at  so  much  pains  to  put  on 
the  appearance  of  virtue,  if  he  did  not  know  it  was  the  most 
proper  and  effectual  means  to  gain  the  love  and  esteem  of  man- 
kind. 

We  learn  from  Hierocles  it  was  a  common  saying  among  the 
heathens,  that  the  wise  man  hates  no  body,  but  only  loves  the 
virtuous.^ 

Tully  has  a  very  beautiful  gradation  of  thoughts,  to  shew  how 
amiable  virtue  is.  We  love  a  virtuous  man,  says  he,  who  lives 
in  the  remotest  parts  of  the  earth,  though  we  are  altogether  out 
of  the  reach  of  his  virtue,  and  can  receive  from  it  no  manner  of 

'  Hierocles,  p.  56,  edit.  Needham. — C. 


No.  243.] 


SPECTATOR. 


569 


benefit ;  nay,  one  who  died  several  years  ago,  raises  a  secret  fond- 
ness and  benevolence  for  him  in  our  minds,  when  we  read  history  : 
nay,  what  is  still  more,  one  who  has  been  the  enemy  of  our  coun- 
try, provided  his  wars  were  regulated  by  justice  and  humanity 
as  in  the  instance  of  Pyrrhus,  whom  Tully  mentions  on  this  occa 
sion  in  opposition  to  Hannibal.  Such  is  the  natural  beauty  and 
loveliness  of  virtue. 

Stoicism,  which  was  the  pedantry  of  virtue,  ascribes  all  good 
qualifications  of  what  kind  soever  to  the  virtuous  man.  Accord^ 
ingly  Cato,  in  the  character  Tully  has  left  of  him,  carried  mat- 
ters so  far,  that  he  would  not  allow  any  one  but  a  virtuous  man 
to  be  handsome.  This  indeed  looks  more  like  a  philosophical  rant, 
than  the  real  opinion  of  a  wise  man ;  yet  this  was  what  Oato  very 
seriously  maintained.  In  short,  the  Stoics  thought  they  could 
not  sufficiently  represent  the  excellence  of  virtue,  if  they  did  not 
comprehend  in  the  notion  of  it  all  possible  perfection ;  and  there- 
fore did  not  only  suppose,  that  it  was  transcendently  beautiful  in 
itself,  but  that  it  made  the  very  body  amiable,  and  banished  every 
kind  of  deformity  from  the  person  in  whom  it  resided. 

It  is  a  common  observation,  that  the  most  abandoned  to  all 
sense  and  goodness,  are  apt  to  wish  those  who  are  related  to 
them  of  a  difi'erent  character ;  and  it  is  very  observable,  that  none 
are  more  struck  with  the  charms  of  virtue  in  the  fair  sex,  than  those 
who  by  their  very  admiration  of  it  are  carried  to  a  desire  of 
ruining  it. 

A  virtuous  mind  in  a  fair  body  is  indeed  a  fine  picture  in  a 
good  light,  and  therefore  it  is  no  wonder  that  it  makes  the  beau- 
tiful sex  all  over  charms. 

As  virtue  in  general  is  of  an  amiable  and  lovely  nature, 
there  are  some  particular  kinds  of  it  which  are  more  so  than 
others,  and  these  are  such  as  dispose  us  to  do  good  to  mankind. 
Temperance  and  abstinence,  faith  and  devotion,  are  in  themselves 


570 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  243. 


perhaps  as  laudable  as  any  other  virtues  ;  but  those  which  make 
a  man  popular  and  beloved,  are  justice,  charity,  munificence,  and 
in  short  all  the  qualifications  that  render  us  beneficial  to  each 
other.  For  which  reason  even  an  extravagant  man,  who  has 
nothing  else  to  recommend  him  but  a  false  generosity,  is  often 
more  beloved  and  esteemed  than  a  person  of  a  much  more 
finished  character,  who  is  defective  in  this  particular. 

The  two  great  ornaments  of  virtue,  which  shew  her  in  the 
most  advantageous  views,  and  make  her  altogether  lovely,  are 
cheerfulness  and  good  nature.  These  generally  go  together,  as 
a  man  cannot  be  agreeable  to  others  who  is  not  easy  within  him- 
self. They  are  both  very  requisite  in  a  virtuous  mind,  to  keep 
out  melancholy  from  the  many  serious  thoughts  it  is  engaged  iu, 
and  to  hinder  its  natural  hatred  of  vice  from  souring  into 
severity  and  censoriousness. 

If  virtue  is  of  this  amiable  nature,  what  can  we  think  of  thoso 
who  can  look  upon  it  with  an  eye  of  hatred  and  ill-will,  or  can 
suffer  their  aversion  for  a  party  to  blot  out  all  the  merit  of  the 
person  who  is  engaged  in  it.  A  man  must  be  excessively  stupid, 
as  well  as  uncharitable,  who  believes  that  there  is  no  virtue  but 
on  his  own  side,  and  that  there  are  not  men  as  honest  as  himself 
who  may  diifer  from  him  in  political  principles.  Men  may  op- 
pose one  another  in  some  particulars,  but  ought  not  to  carry 
their  hatred  to  those  qualities  which  are  of  so  amiable  a  nature 
in  themselves,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  points  in  dispute. 
Men  of  virtue,  though  of  different  interests,  ought  to  consider 
themselves  as  more  nearly  united  with  one  another,  than  with  the 
vicious  part  of  mankind,  who  embark  with  them  in  the  same  civil 
concerns.  We  should  bear  the  same  love  towards  a  man  of 
honour,  who  is  a  living  antagonist,  which  TuUy  tells  us  In  the 
forementioned  passage  every  one  naturally  does  to  an  enemy 


No.  246.] 


SPECTATOR. 


571 


that  is  dead.  In  short,  we  should  esteem  virtue  though  in  a  foe, 
and  abhor  vice  though  in  a  friend. 

I  speak  this  with  an  eye  to  those  cruel  treatments  which 
men  of  all  sides  are  apt  to  give  the  characters  of  those  who  do 
not  agree  with  them.  How  many  persons  of  undoubted  pro- 
bity and  exemplary  virtue,  on  either  side,  are  blackened  and 
defamed  ?  How  many  men  of  honour  exposed  to  public  obloquy 
and  reproach  ?  Those,  therefore,  who  are  either  the  instru- 
ments or  abettors  in  such  infernal  dealings,  ought  to  be  looked 
upon  as  persons  who  make  use  of  religion  to  promote  their 
cause,^  not  of  their  cause  to  promote  religion,  C. 


No.  245.    TUESDAY,  DECEMBER  11. 

Ficta  voluptatis  caus^  sint  proxima  veris. 

HoR.  Ars  Poet  33S. 
Fictions,  to  please,  should  wear  the  face  of  truth. 

There  is  nothing  which  one  regards  so  much  with  an  eye  of 
mirth  and  pity,  as  innocence  when  it  has  in  it  a  dash  of  folly. 
At  the  same  time  that  one  esteems  the  virtue,  one  is  tempted  to 
laugh  at  the  simplicity  which  accompanies  it.  When  a  man  is 
made  up  wholly  of  the  dove,  without  the  least  grain  of  the  ser- 
pent in  his  composition,  he  becomes  ridiculous  in  many  circum- 
stances of  life,  and  very  often  discredits  his  best  actions.  The 
Cordeliers'^  tell  a  story  of  their  founder  St.  Francis,  that  as  he 
passed  the  streets  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  he  discovered  a 

*  Alluding  to  the  popular  cry  of  those  times,  '  that  the  Chnreh  was  in 
danger,'  artfully  made  use  of  by  the  leaders  of  one  party,  to  effect  the 
downfall  of  the  other. — C. 

^  The  Minorite  friars  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis  are  so  called,  from  a 
2ord  which  they  wear  by  way  of  a  girdle. — C. 


672 


SPECTATOR 


[No.  245. 


young  fellow  with  a  maid  in  a  corner ;  upon  which  the  good  man, 
say  they,  lifted  up  his  hands  to  heaven  with  a  secret  thanksgiving, 
that  there  was  still  so  much. Christian  charity  in  the  world.  The 
innocence  of  the  saint  made  him  mistake  the  kiss  of  a  lover  for 
a  salute  of  charity.^  I  am  heartily  concerned  when  I  see  a  vir- 
tuous man  without  a  competent  knowledge  of  the  world ;  and  if 
there  be  any  use  in  these  my  papers,  it  is  this,  that  without  rep- 
resenting vice  under  any  false  alluring  notions,  they  give  my 
reader  an  insight  into  the  ways  of  men,  and  represent  human 
nature  in  all  its  changeable  colours.  The  man  who  has  not  been 
engaged  in  any  of  the  follies  of  the  world,  or  as  Shakespear  ex- 
presses it,  ^  hackneyed  in  the  ways  of  men,'  may  here  find  a  pic- 
ture of  its  follies  and  extravagances.  The  virtuous  and  innocent 
may  know  in  speculation  what  they  could  never  arrive  at  by  prac- 
tice, and  by  this  means  avoid  the  snare  of  the  crafty,  the  corrup- 
tions of  the  vicious,  and  the  reasonings  of  the  prejudiced.  Their 
minds  may  be  opened  without  being  vitiated. 

It  is  with  an  eye  to  my  following  correspondent,  Mr.  Timothy 
Doodle,  who  seems  a  very  well-meaning  man,  that  I  have  written 
this  short  preface,  to  which  I  shall  subjoin  a  letter  from  the  said 
Mr.  Doodle. 

"  Sir, 

"  I  could  heartily  wish  that  you  would  let  us  know  your 
opinion  upon  several  innocent  diversions  which  are  in  use  among 
us,  and  which  are  very  proper  to  pass  away  a  winter  night  for 
those  who  do  not  care  to  throw  away  their  time  at  an  opera,  or  at 
the  play-house.  I  would  gladly  know  in  particular  what  notion 
you  have  of  hot-cockles  f  as  also  whether  you  think  that  ques- 

^   One  is  almost  tempted  to  apply  the  verse  of  Dante — 

 Rade  volte  discende  per  li  rami, 

L'umana  probitade.— G.  i 

2  A  play  in  which  one  covers  his  eyes,  puts  his  hand  behind  his  back, 


No.  245  ] 


SPECTATOR. 


573 


tions  and  commands,  mottoes,  similies,  and  cross  purposes,  have  not 
more  mirth  and  wit  in  them,  than  those  public  diversions  which  are 
grown  so  very  fashionable  among  us.  If  you  would  recommend 
to  our  wives  and  daughters,  who  read  your  papers  with  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure,  some  of  those  sports  and  pastimes  that  may 
be  practised  within  doors,  and  by  the  fire-side,  we  who  are 
masters  of  families  should  be  hugely  obliged  to  you.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  I  would  have  these  sports  and  pastimes  not  only 
merry  but  innocent,  for  which  reason  I  have  not  mentioned  either 
whisk  or  lanterloo,  nor  indeed  so  much  as  one  and  thirty.  After 
having  communicated  to  you  my  request  upon  this  subject,  I  will 
be  so  free  as  to  tell  you  how  my  w^ife  and  I  pass  away  these 
tedious  winter  evenings,  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  Though 
she  be  young,  and  handsome,  and  good-humoured  to  a  miracle, 
she  does  not  care  for  gadding  abroad  like  others  of  her  sex. 
There  is  a  very  friendly  man,  a  colonel  in  the  army,  whom  I  am 
mightily  obliged  to  for  his  civilities,  that  comes  to  see  me  almost 
every  night ;  for  he  is  not  one  of  those  giddy  young  fellows  that 
cannot  live  out  of  a  play-house.  When  we  are  together,  we  very 
often  make  a  party  at  blind-man's-buff,  which  is  a  sport  that  I 
like  the  better,  because  there  is  a  good  deal  of  exercise  in  it. 
The  colonel  and  I  are  blinded  by  turns,  and  you  would  laugh 
your  heart  out  to  see  what  pains  my  dear  takes  to  hoodwink  us, 
so  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  see  the  least  glimpse  of  light. 
The  poor  colonel  sometimes  hits  his  nose  against  a  post,  and 
makes  us  die  with  laughing.  I  have  generally  the  good  luck  not 
to  hurt  myself,  but  am  very  often  above  half  an  hour  before  I 
can  catch  either  of  them  ;  for  you  must  know  we  hide  our- 
selves up  and  down  in  corners,  that  we  may  have  the  more  sport. 

and  guesses  who  strikes  it.  The  French  call  it  'La  main  chaudeJ—O.  It 
obtains  honorable  mention,  too,  in  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  among  th* 
games  of  Michaelmas-eve.    V.  ch.  xi. — Gr. 


574 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  245. 


I  only  give  you  this  hint  as  a  sample  of  such  innocent  diversions 
as  I  would  have  you  recommend ;  and  am, 

Most  esteemed  sir, 
"  Your  ever  loving  friend, 

"  Timothy  Doodle." 
The  following  letter  was  occasioned  by  my  last  Thursday's 
paper ^  upon  the  absence  of  lovers,  and  the  methods  therein  men- 
tioned of  making  such  absence  supportable. 
Sir, 

"  Among  the  several  ways  of  consolation  which  absent  lovers 
make  use  of  while  their  souls  are  in  that  state  of  departure, 
which  you  say  is  death  in  love,  there  are  some  very  material 
ones,  that  have  escaped  your  notice.  Among  these,  the  first  and 
most  received  is  a  crooked  shilling,  which  has  administered  great 
comfort  to  our  fore-fathers,  and  is  still  made  use  of  on  this  oc- 
casion with  very  good  effect  in  most  parts  of  her  majesty's  do- 
minions. There  are  some,  I  know,  who  think  a  crown  piece  cut 
into  two  equal  parts,  and  preserved  by  the  distant  lovers,  is  of 
more  sovereign  virtue  than  the  former.  But  since  opinions  are 
divided  in  this  particular,  why  may  not  the  same  persons  make 
use  of  both  ?  The  figure  of  a  heart,  whether  cut  in  stone  or  cast 
in  metal,  whether  bleeding  upon  an  altar,  stuck  with  darts,  or 
held  in  the  hand  of  a  Cupid,  has  always  been  looked  upon  as 
talismanic  in  distresses  of  this  nature.  I  am  acquainted  with 
many  a  brave  fellow,  who  carries  his  mistress  in  the  lid  of  his 
snuff-lDox,  and  by  that  expedient  has  supported  himself  under  the 
absence  of  a  whole  campaign.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  tried  all 
these  remedies,  but  -never  found  so  much  benefit  from  any  as  from 
a  ring,  in  which  my  mistress's  hair  is  platted  together  very  arti- 
ficially in  a  kind  of  true-lover's  knot.  As  I  have  received  great 
benefit  from  this  secret,  I  think  myself  obliged  to  communicate 
'  No.  241.— C. 


N«.  245.] 


S  P  E  C  T  A  T  0  II  . 


575 


it  to  the  public,  for  the  good  of  my  fellow-subjects.  I  desire 
you  will  add  this  letter  as  an  appendix  to  your  consolations  upon 
absence ;  and  am 

Your  very  humble  servant,       T.  B." 

I  shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a  letter  from  an  university 
gentleman,  occasioned  by  my  last  Tuesday's  paper^  wherein  I 
gave  some  account  of  the  great  feuds  which  happened  formerly 
in  those  learned  bodies,  between  the  modern  Greeks  and 
Trojans. 

"  Sir, 

"  This  will  give  you  to  understand,  that  there  is  at  present 
in  the  society,  whereof  I  am  a  member,  a  very  considerable  body 
of  Trojans,  who,  upon  a  proper  occasion,  would  not  fail  to  de- 
clare ourselves.  In  the  mean  while  we  do  all  we  can  to  annoy 
our  enemies  by  stratagem,  and  are  resolved,  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity, to  attack  Mr.  Joshua  Barns,^  whom  we  look  upon  as  the 
Achilles  of  the  opposite  party.  As  for  myself,  I  have  had  the 
reputation,  ever  since  I  came  from  school,  of  being  a  trusty 
Trojan,  and  am  resolved  never  to  give  quarter  to  the  smallest 
particle  of  Greek,  where-ever  I  chance  to  meet  it.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  I  take  it  very  ill  of  you,  that  you  sometimes  hang 
out  Greek  colours  at  the  head  of  your  paper,  and  sometimes 
give  a  word  of  the  enemy  in  the  body  of  it.  When  I  meet 
with  any  thing  of  this  nature,  I  throw  down  your  speculations 
upon  the  table ;  with  that  form  of  words  which  we  make  use  of 
when  we  declare  war  upon  an  author, 

Graecum  est,  non  potest  legi. 

I  give  you  this  hint,  that  you  may  for  the  future  abstain  from 

any  such  hostilities  at  your  peril.  "  Troilus." 

'  IS^o.  239.— C.  ^* 
*  The  noted  Greek  professor  of  the  University  of  Cambridge. — C. 


SPECTATOR, 


[No.  247. 


No.  247.    THURSDAY,  DECEMBER  13. 

—  Toou  8*  oLKa/naTos  pea  avdr} 

^Ek  (ro[x6.To)p  7]Be7a  

Hes. 

Their  untir'd  lips  a  wordy  torrent  pour. 

We  are  told  by  some  ancient  authors,  that  Socrates  was  in- 
structed in  eloquence  by  a  woman,  whose  name,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, was  Aspasia.  I  have,  indeed,  very  often  looked  upon  that 
art  as  the  most  proper  for  the  female  sex,  and  I  think  the 
universities  would  do  well  to  consider  whether  they  should  not 
fill  their  rhetoric  chairs  with  she  professors. 

It  has  been  said  in  the  praise  of  some  men,  that  they  could 
talk  whole  hours  together  upon  any  thing ;  but  it  must  be  owned 
to  the  honour  of  the  other  sex,  that  there  are  many  among  them 
who  can  talk  whole  hours  together  upon  nothing.  I  have  known 
a  woman  branch  out  into  a  long  extempore  dissertation  upon  the 
edging  of  a  petticoat,  and  chide  her  servant  for  breaking  a  china 
cup,  in  all  the  figures  of  rhetoric. 

AVere  women  admitted  to  plead  in  courts  of  judicature,  I  am 
persuaded  they  would  carry  the  eloquence  of  the  bar  to  greater 
heights  than  it  has  yet  arrived  at.  If  any  one  doubts  this,  let 
him  but  be  present  at  those  debates  which  frequently  arise  among 
the  ladies  of  the  British  fishery. 

The  first  kind,  therefore,  of  female  orators  which  I  shall  take 
notice  of,  are  those  who  are  employed  in  stirring  up  the  passions, 
a  part  of  rhetoric  in  which  Socrates  his  wife  had  perhaps  made  a 
greater  proficiency  than  his  above-mentioned  teacher. 

The  second  kind  of  female  orators  are  those  who  deal  in  in- 
vectives, and  who  are  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  the  cen- 
fiorious.    The  imagination  and  elocution  of  this  set  of  rhetori- 


No.  247.]  SPECTATOR.  577 

cians  is  wonderful.  With  what  a  fluency  of  invention,  and 
copiousness  of  expression,  will  they  enlarge  upon  every  little  slip 
in  the  behaviour  of  another  ?  With  how  many  different  circum- 
stances, and  with  what  variety  of  phrases,  will  they  tell  over  the 
same  story  ?  I  have  known  an  old  lady  make  an  unhappy  mar- 
riage the  subject  of  a  month's  conversation.  She  blamed  the 
bride  in  one  place,  pitied  her  in  another ;  laughed  at  her  in  a 
third ;  wondered  at  her  in  a  fourth;  was  angry  with  her  in  a 
fifth  ;  and  in  short,  wore  out  a  pair  of  coach-horses  in  expressing 
her  concern  for  her.  At  length,  after  having  quite  exhausted 
the  subject  on  this  side,  she  made  a  visit  to  the  new-married 
pair,  praised  the  wife  for  the  prudent  choice  she  had  made, 
told  her  the  unreasonable  reflections  which  some  malicious 
people  had  cast  upon  her,  and  desired  that  they  might  be  better 
acquainted.  The  censure  and  approbation  of  this  kind  of  women 
are  therefore  only  to  be  considered  as  helps  to  discourse. 

A  third  kind  of  female  orators  may  be  comprehended  under 
the  word  Gossips.  Mrs.  Fiddle  Faddle  is  perfectly  accomplished 
in  this  sort  of  eloquence  ;  she  launches  out  into  descriptions  of 
christenings,  runs  divisions  upon  an  head-dress,  knows  every  dish 
of  meat  that  is  served  up  in  her  neighbourhood,  and  entertains 
her  company  a  whole  afternoon  together  with  the  wit  of  her  little 
boy,  before  he  is  able  to  speak. 

The  coquette  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  fourth  kind  of  female 

orator.    To  give  herself  the  larger  field  for  discourse,  she  hates 

and  loves  in  the  same  breath,  talks  to  her  lap-dog  or  parrot,  is 

uneasy  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  in  every  part  of  the  room  : 

she  has  false  quarrels  and  feigned  obligations  to  all  the  men  of 

her  acquaintance  ;  sighs  when  she  is  not  sad,  and  laughs  when 

she  is  not  merry.    The  coquette  is  in  particular  a  great  mistress 

of  that  part  of  oratory  which  is  called  action,  and  indeed  seems  to 

speak  for  no  other  purpose,  but  as  it  gives  her  an  opportunity  of 
VOL.   V. — 25 


578 


SPECTATOR.. 


[No.  247. 


stirring  a  limb,  or  varying  a  feature,  of  glancing  her  eyes,  or 
playing  with  her  fan. 

As  for  news-mongers,  politicians,  mimics,  story-tellers,  with 
other  characters  of  that  nature,  which  give  birth  to  loquacit}^, 
they  are  as  commonly  found  among  the  men  as  the  women ;  for 
which  reason  I  shall  pass  them  over  in  silence. 

I  have  been  often  puzzled  to  assign  a  cause  why  women  should 
have  this  talent  of  a  ready  utterance  in  so  much  greater  perfection 
than  men.  I  have  sometimes  fancied  that  they  have  not  a  reten- 
tive power,  the  faculty  of  suppressing  their  thoughts,  as  men  have, 
but  that  they  are  necessitated  to  speak  every  thing  they  think; 
and  if  so,  it  would  perhaps  furnish  a  very  strong  argument  to  the 
Cartesians,  for  the  supporting  of  their  doctrine,  that  the  soul 
always  thinks.  But  as  several  are  of  opinion  that  the  fair  sex 
are  not  altogether  strangers  to  the  arts  of  dissembling,  and  con- 
cealing their  thoughts,  I  have  been  forced  to  relinquish  that  opin- 
ion, and  have,  therefore,  endeavoured  to  seek  after  some  better 
reason.  In  order  to  it,  a  friend  of  mine,  who  is  an  excellent 
anatomist,  has  promised  me  by  the  first  opportunity  to  dissect  a 
woman's  tongue,  and  to  examine  whether  there  may  not  be  in  it 
certain  juices  which  render  it  so  wonderfully  voluble  or  fli23pant, 
or  whether  the  fibres  of  it  may  not  be  made  up  of  a  finer  or  more 
pliant  thread,  or  whether  there  are  not  in  it  some  particular  mus- 
cles, which  dart  it  up  and  down  by  such  sudden  glances  and  vi- 
brations ;  or  whether  in  the  last  place,  there  may  not  be  certain 
undiscovered  channels  running  from  the  head  and  the  heart,  to 
this  little  instrument  of  loquacity,  and  conveying  into  it  a  per- 
petual affluence  of  animal  spirits.  Nor  must  I  omit  the  reason 
which  Hudibras  has  given,  why  those  who  can  talk  on  trifles  speak 
with  the  greatest  fluency  ;  namely,  that  the  tongue  is  like  a  race- 
horse, which  runs  the  faster  the  lesser  weight  it  carries."^ 

^  But  still  his  tongue  ran  on,  the  less 
Of  weight  it  bore,  with  great-er  ease, 


1^0.  247.] 


SPECTATOR 


579 


Which  of  these  reasons  soever  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  most 
probabl'e,  I  think  the  Irishman's  thought  was  very  natural,  who 
after  some  hours  conversation  with  a  female  orator,  told  her,  that 
he  believed  her  tongue  was  very  glad  when  she  was  asleep,  for 
that  it  had  not  a  moment's  rest  all  the  while  she  was  awake. 

That  excellent  old  ballad  of  the  ^  Wanton  Wife  of  Bath '  has 
the  following  remarkable  lines  : 

1  think,  quoth  Thomas,  women's  tongues  ,^ 
Of  aspen  leaves  are  made. 

And  Ovid,  though  in  a  description  of  a  very  barbarous  cir- 
cumstance, tells  us,  that  when  the  tongue  of  a  beautiful  female 
was  cut  out,  and  thrown  upon  the  ground,  it  could  not  forbear 
muttering  even  in  that  posture  : 

 Comprehensam  forcipe  Hnguam 

Abstulit  ense  fero.   Radix  micat  ultima  linguae. 
Ipsa  jacet,  terrfeque  tremens  immurmurat  atrae  ; 
Utque  salire  solet  mutikitse  cauda  colubrse, 
Palpitat. 

Met. 

 The  blade  had  cut 

Her  tongue  sheer-off,  close  to  the  trembling  root : 
The  mangled  part  still  quiver'd  on  the  ground, 
Murmuring  with  a  faint  imperfect  sound; 
And,  as  a  serpent  writhes  his  wounded  train, 
Uneasy,  panting,  and  possess'd  with  pai  . 

Croxal. 

If  a  tongue  would  be  talking  without  a  mouth,  what  could  it 
have  done  when  it  had  all  its  organs  of  speech,  and  accomplices 
of  sound,  about  it  ?  I  might  here  mention  the  story  of  the  pippin- 
woman,  had  not  ^  I  some  reason  to  look  upon  it  as  fabulous.'^ 

And  with  its  everlasting  clack 
Set  all  men's  ears  upon  the  rack. 

Part  iii.  c.  2.  v.  443.— G. 

^  I  have  follovred  Tickell  for  the  position  of  the  not^  which  some  modern 
editors  place  after  I. — G. 

This  is  a  fine  stroke  of  humor  after  having  admitted  Ovid's  tale  of 


580 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  249. 


I  must  confess  I  am  so  wonderfully  cnarmed  with  the  music 
of  this  little  instrument,  that  I  would  by  no  means  discourage  it. 
All  that  I  aim  at  by  this  dissertation  is,  to  cure  it  of  several  dis- 
agreeable notes,  and  in  particular  of  those  little  jarrings  and  dis- 
sonances which  arise  from  anger,  censoriousness,  gossiping,  and 
coquetry.  In  short,  I  would  have  it  always  tuned  by  good-nature, 
truth,  discretion,  and  sincerity.  C. 


No.  249.    SATURDAY,  DECEMBER  15. 

FeAcos  UKaipos  eV  ^pOTols  deivhu  kukuu. 

Fkag.  Yet.  Po. 

Mirth  out  of  season  is  a  grievous  ill. 

When  I  make  choice  of  a  subject  that  has  not  been  treated 
on  by  others,  I  throw  together  my  reflections  on  it  without  any 
order  or  method,  so  that  they  may  appear  rather  in  the  looseness 
and  freedom  of  an  essay,  than  in  the  regularity  of  a  set  discourse. 
It  is  after  this  manner  that  I  shall  consider  laughter  and  ridicule 
in  my  present  paper. 

Man  is  the  merriest  species  of  the  creation,  all  above  and  be- 
low him  are  serious.  He  sees  things  in  a  different  light  from 
other  beings,  and  finds  his  mirth  rising  from  objects  that  perhaps 
cause  something  like  pity  or  displeasure  in  higher  natures.  Laugh- 
Philomel,  without  any  objections  to  its  veracity.  The  story  here  referred 
to  is  of  an  apple  woman,  who,  when  the  Thames  was  frozen  over,  was  said 
to  have  had  her  head  cut  off  by  the  ice.  It  is  humorously  told  in  Gay's 
'Trivia'— 

*Tbe  crackling  chrystal  yields,  she  sinks,  she  dies. 
Her  head  chopt  off,  from  her  lost  shoulders  flies; 
Pippins  she  cried,  but  death  her  voice  confounds, 
And  pip-pip-pip  along  the  ice  resounds. 

Book  II.  V.  375,  &c.— C. 


No.  249.] 


SPECTATOR. 


581 


ter  is,  indeed,  a  very  good  counterpoise  to  the  spleen ;  and  it 
seems  but  reasonable  that  we  should  be  capable  of  receiving  joy 
from  what  is  no  real  good  to  us,  since  we  can  receive  grief  from 
what  is  no  real  evil. 

I  have  in  my  forty-seventh  paper  raised  a  speculation  on  the 
notion  of  a  modern  philosopher,  who  describes  the  first  motive  of 
laughter  to  be  a  secret  comparison  which  we  make  between  our- 
selves, and  the  persons  we  laugh  at ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  sat- 
isfaction which  we  receive  from  the  opinion  of  some  pre-eminence 
in  ourselves,  when  we  see  the  absurdities  of  another,  or  when  we 
reflect  on  any  past  absurdities  of  our  own.  This  seems  to  hold 
in  most  cases,  and  we  may  observe  that  the  vainest  part  of  man- 
kind are  the  most  addicted  to  this  passion. 

I  have  read  a  sermon  of  a  conventual  in  the  church  of  Rome, 
on  those  words  of  the  wise  man  ;  '  I  said  of  Laughter,  it  is  mad ; 
and  of  Mirth,  what  does  it  ?  '  Upon  which  he  laid  it  down  as  a 
point  of  doctrine,  that  laughter  was  the  effect  of  original  sin,  and 
that  Adam  could  not  laugh  before  the  fall. 

Laughter,  while  it  lasts,  slackens  and  unbraces  the  mind,  weak- 
ens the  faculties,  and  causes  a  kind  of  remissness  and  dissolu- 
tion in  all  the  powers  of  the  soul :  and  thus  far  it  may  be  looked 
upon  as  a  weakness  in  the  composition  of  human  nature.  But  if 
we  consider  the  frequent  reliefs  we  receive  from  it,  and  how  often 
it  breaks  the  gloom  which  is  apt  to  depress  the  mind  and  damp 
our  spirits  with  transient  and  unexpected  gleams  of  joy,  one 
would  take  care  not  to  grow  too  wise  for  so  great  a  pleasure  of 
life. 

The  talent  of  turning  men  into  ridicule,  and  exposing  to  laugh- 
ter those  one  converses  with,  is  the  qualification  of  little  ungene- 
rous tempers.  A  young  man  with  this  cast  of  mind  cuts  himself 
off  from  all  manner  of  improvement.  Every  one  has  his  flaws 
and  weaknesses  ;  nay,  the  greatest  blemishes  are  often  found  in 


682 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  249. 


the  most  sliining  characters ;  but  what  an  absurd  thing  is  it  to 
pass  over  all  the  valuable  parts  of  a  man,  and  fix  our  attention 
on  his  infirmities  ?  to  observe  his  imperfections  more  than  his  vir- 
tues ?  and  to  make  use  of  him  for  the  sport  of  others,  rather  than 
for  our  own  improvement  ? 

We  therefore  very  often  find,  that  persons  the  most  accom- 
plished in  ridicule,  are  those  who  are  very  shrewd  at  hitting  a 
blot,  without  exerting  any  thing  masterly  in  themselves.  As 
there  are  many  eminent  critics  who  never  writ  a  good  line,*there 
are  many  admirable  buffoons  that  animadvert  upon  every  single 
defect  in  another,  Vv^ithout  ever  discovering  the  least  beauty  of 
their  own.  By  this  means,  these  unlucky  little  wits  often  gain 
reputation  in  the  esteem  of  vulgar  minds,  and  raise  themselves 
above  persons  of  much  more  laudable  characters. 

If  the  talent  of  ridicule  were  employed  to  laugh  men  out  of 
vice  and  folly,  it  might  be  of  some  use  to  the  world ;  but  instead 
of  this,  we  find  that  it  is  generally  made  use  of  to  laugh  men  out 
of  virtue  and  good  sense,  by  attacking  every  thing  that  is  solemn 
and  serious,  decent  and  praise-worthy  in  human  life. 

We  may  observe,  that  in  the  first  ages  of  the  world,  when 
the  great  souls  and  master-  pieces  of  human  nature  were  pro- 
duced, men  shined  by  a  noble  simplicity  of  behaviour,  and  were 
strangers  to  those  little  embellishments  which  are  so  fashionable 
in  our  present  conversation.  And  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  not- 
withstanding we  fall  short  at  present  of  the  ancients  in  poetry, 
painting,  oratory,  history,  architecture,  and  all  the  noble  arts  and 
sciences  which  depend  more  upon  genius  than  experience,  we  ex- 
ceed them  as  much  in  doggerel,  humour,  burlesque,  and  all  the 
trivial  acts  of  ridicule.  We  meet  with  more  raillery  among  the 
moderns,  but  more  good  sense  among  the  ancients. 

The  two  great  branches  of  ridicule  in  writing  are  comedy  and 
burlesque.    The  first  ridicules  persons  by  drawing  them  in  their 


No.  249.] 


SPECTATOR. 


583 


proper  characters,  the  other  by  drawing  them  quite  unlike  them- 
selves. Burlesque  is  therefore  of  two  kinds  ;  the  first  represents 
mean  persons  in  accoutrements  of  heroes,  the  other  describes 
great  persons  acting  and  speaking  like  the  basest  among  the  peo- 
ple. Don  Quixote  is  an  instance  of  the  first,  and  Lucian's  gods 
of  the  second.  It  is  a  dispute  among  the  critics,  whether  bur- 
lesque poetry  runs  best  in  heroic  verse,  like  that  of  the  Dispen- 
sary ;  ^  or  in  doggerel,  like  that  of  Hudibras.  I  think  where  the 
low  character  is  to  be  raised,  the  heroic  is  the  proper  measure ; 
but  when  an  hero  is  to  be  pulled  dow^n  and  degraded,  it  is  done 
best  in  doggerel. 

If  Hudibras  had  been  set  out  with  as  much  wit  and  humour 
in  heroic  verse  as  he  is  in  doggerel,  he  would  have  made  a  much 
more  agreeable  figure  than  he  does  ;  though  the  generality  of 
his  readers  are  so  wonderfully  pleased  with  the  double  rhimes, 
that  I  do  not  expect  many  will  be  of  my  opinion  in  this  particu- 
lar. 

I  shall  conclude  this  essay  upon  laughter  with  observing,  that 
the  metaphor  of  laughing,  applied  to  fields  and  meadows  when 
they  are  in  flower,  or  to  trees  when  they  are  in  blossom,  runs 
through  all  languages,^  which  I  have  not  observed  of  any  other 
metaphor,  excepting  that  of  fire  and  burning  when  they  are  ap- 
plied to  love.  This  shews  that  we  naturally  regaj-d  laughter,  as 
what  is  in  itself  both  amiable  and  beautiful.  For  this  reason, 
likewise,  Venus  has  gained  the  title  of  c^tXo/xetS?;?,  the  laughter- 
loving  dame,  as  Waller  has  translated  it,  and  is  represented  by 
Horace  as  the  goddess  who  delights  in  laughter.     Milton,  in  a 

'  A  poem  by  Dr.  Garth,  which  had  a  great  cotemporary  reputation, 
though  now  but  little  known. 

'  Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary.— G. 

^  But  has  no  where  been  used  with  such  effect,  as  in  Chiabrera's  4'7th 
canzoneita  and  Bryant's  '  Gladness  of  Nature,'  to  which  I  cannot  help 
calling  the  reader's  attention,  in  this  connexion,  although  they  scarcely 
come  within  a  strict  interpretation  of  the  language  of  the  text. — G. 


584 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  251. 


joyous  assembly  of  imaginary  persons,  lias  given  us  a  very  poeti- 
cal figure  of  laughter.  His  whole  band  of  mirth  is  so  finely  de- 
scribed, that  I  shall  set  the  passage  down  at  length. 

But  come,  thy  goddess,  fair  and  free, 

In  Heaven  yclep'd  Euplirosyne, 

And  by  men,  Heart-easing  Mirth, 

Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth 

With  two  sister  Graces  more 

To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore : 

Haste  thee,  nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 

Jest  and  youthful  Jollity, 

Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 

Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles, 

Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 

And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek ; 

Sport,  that  wrinkled  care  derides. 

And  Laughter,  holding  both  his  sides. 

Come,  and  trip  it  as  you  go, 

On  the  light  fantastic  toe. 

And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 

The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty  ; 

And  if  I  give  thee  honour  due. 

Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 

To  live  with  her,  and  live  with  thee, 

In  unreproved  pleasures  free.  G 


No.  251.    TUESDAY,  DECEMBER  18. 

 Linguae  centum  sunt,  oraque  centum, 

Ferrea  vox.  

YiEG.  -iEn.  tL  625, 

 A  hundred  mouths,  a  hundred  tongues, 

And  throats  of  brass,  inspired  ■with  iron  kings. 


There  is  nothing  which  more  astonishes  a  foreigner,  and 
frights  a  country  squire,  than  the  Cries  of  London.    My  good 


No.  251.] 


SPECTATOR. 


585 


friend  Sir  Eoger  often  declares,  that  he  cannot  get  them  out  of 
his  head,  or  go  to  sleep  for  them,  the  first  week  that  he  is  in 
town.  On  the  contrary.  Will  Honeycomb  calls  them  the  Ilarnage 
de  la  Yille^  and  prefers  them  to  the  sounds  of  larks  and  nightin- 
gales, with  all  the  music  of  the  fields  and  woods.  I  have  lately 
received  a  letter  from  some  very  odd  fellow  upon  this  subject, 
which  I  shall  leave  with  my  reader,  without  saying  any  thing  fur- 
ther of  it. 

^'  Sir, 

"  I  AM  a  man  out  of  all  business,  and  would  willingly  turn  my 
head  to  any  thing  for  an  honest  livelihood.  I  have  invented 
several  projects  for  raising  many  millions  of  money  without  bur- 
thening  the  subject,  but  I  cannot  get  the  parliament  to  listen  to 
me,  who  look  upon  me,  forsooth,  as  a  crack  and  a  projector  ;  so 
that  despairing  to  enrich  either  myself  or  my  country  by  this 
public-spiritedness,  I  would  make  some  proposals  to  you  relating 
to  a  design  which  I  have  very  much  at  heart,  and  which  may  pro- 
cure me  an  handsome  subsistence,  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  re- 
commend it  to  the  cities  of  London  and  Westminster. 

"  The  post  I  would  aim  at  is  to  be  Comptroller-general  of 
the  London  Cries,  which  are  at  present  under  no  manner  of  rules 
or  discipline.  I  think  I  am  pretty  well  qualified  for  this  place, 
as  being  a  man  of  very  strong  lungs,  of  great  insight  into  all  the 
branches  of  our  British  trades  and  manufactures,  and  of  a  com- 
petent skill  in  music. 

The  cries  of  London  may  be  divided  into  vocal  and  instru- 
mental. As  for  the  latter,  they  are  at  present  under  a  very 
great  disorder.  A  freeman  of  London  has  the  privilege  of  dis- 
turbing a  whole  street  for  an  hour  together,  with  the  twanking 
of  a  brass-kettle  or  a  fryingpan.  The  watchman's  thump  at 
midnight  startles  us  in  our  beds,  as  much  as  the  breaking  in  of  a 


586 


SPECTATOR. 


[No.  251 


thief.  The  sowsrelder's  horn  has  indeed  somethino;  musical  in  it, 
but  this  is  seldom  heard  within  the  liberties.  I  would  therefore 
propose,  that  no  instrument  of  this  nature  should  be  made  use 
of,  which  I  have  not  tuned  and  licensed,  after  having  carefully 
examined  in  what  manner  it  may  alFect  the  ears  of  her  Majesty's 
liege  subjects. 

^'  Vocal  cries  are  of  a  much  larger  extent,  and,  indeed,  so  full 
of  incongruities  and  barbarisms,  that  we  appear  a  distracted  city 
to  foreigners,  who  do  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  such 
enormous  outcries.  Milk  is  generally  sold  in  a  note  above  ela^ 
and  in  sounds  so  exceeding  shrill,  that  it  often  sets  our  teeth  on 
edge.  The  chimney-sweeper  is  confined  to  no  certain  pitch  ;  he 
sometimes  utters  himself  in  the  deepest  base,  and  sometimes  in 
the  sharpest  treble  ;  sometimes  in  the  highest,  and  sometimes  in 
the  lowest  note  of  the  gamut.  The  same  observation  might  be 
made  on  the  retailers  of  small-coal,  not  to  mention  broken 
glass  or  brick-dust.  In  these,  therefore,  and  the  like  cases,  it 
should  be  my  care  to  sweeten  and  mellow  the  voices  of  these 
itinerant  tradesmen,  before  they  make  their  appearance  in  our 
streets,  as  also  to  accommodate  their  cries  to  their  respective 
wares  ;  and  to  take  care  in  particular  that  those  may  not  make 
the  most  noise  who  have  the  least  to  sell,  which  is  very  observ- 
able in  the  venders  of  card-matches,  to  whom  I  cannot  but  apply 
that  old  proverb  of  '  Much  cry,  but  little  wool.' 

'-^  Some  of  these  last  mentioned  musicians  are  so  very  loud  in 
the  sale  of  these  trifling  manufactures,  that  an  honest  splenetic 
gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  bargained  with  one  of  then  never 
to  come  into  the  street  where  lie  lived  :  but  what  was  the  effect  of 
this  contract  ?  why,  the  whole  tribe  of  card-match-niakers  which 
frequent  the  quarter,  passed  by  his  door  the  very  next  day,  in 
hopes  of  being  bought  off  after  the  same  manner. 

"  It  is  another  great  imporfoction  in  our  London  cries,  that 


No.  251.] 


SPECTATOR. 


587 


there  is  no  just  time  nor  measure  observed  in  them.  Our  news 
should,  indeed,  be  published  in  a  very  quick  time,  because  it  is 
a  commodity  that  will  not  keep  cold.  It  should  not,  however, 
be  cried  with  the  same  precipitation  as  'fire:'  yet  this  is  gene- 
rally the  case.  A  bloody  battle  alarms  the  town  from  one  end 
to  another  in  an  instant.  Every  motion  of  the  French  is  pub- 
lished in  so  great  a  hurry,  that  one  would  think  the  enemy  were 
at  our  gates.  This  likewise  I  would  take  upon  me  to  regulate  in 
such  a  manner,  that  there  should  be  some  distinction  made  be- 
tween the  spreading  of  a  victory,  a  march,  or  an  encampment,  a 
Dutch,  a  Portugal,  or  a  Spanish  mail.  Nor  must  I  omit  under 
this  head,  those  excessive  alarms  with  Vv^hich  several  boisterous 
rustics  infest  our  streets  in  turnip  season  ;  and  which  are  more 
inexcusable,  because  these  are  wares  which  are  in  no  danger  of 
cooling  upon  their  hands. 

"  There  are  others  who  affect  a  very  slow  time,  and  are,  in 
my  opinion,  much  more  tunable  than  the  former  :  the  cooper,  in 
particular,  swells  his  last  note  in  an  hollow  voice,  that  is  not 
without  its  harmony  :  nor  can  I  forbear  being  inspired  with  a 
most  agreeable  melancholy,  when  I  hear  that  sad  and  solemn  air 
with  which  the  public  is  very  often  asked,  if  they  have  any  chairs 
to  mend  ?  Your  own  memory  may  suggest  to  you  many  other 
lamentable  ditties  of  the  same  nature,  in  which  the  music  is 
wonderfully  languishing  and  melodious. 

I  am  always  pleased  with  that  particular  time  of  the  year 
which  is  proper  for  the  pickling  of  dill  and  cucumbers ;  but,  alas, 
this  cry,  like  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  is  not  heard  above  two 
months.  It  would,  therefore,  be  worth  while,  to  consider  whether 
the  same  air  might  not  in  some  cases  be  adapted  to  other  words. 

It  might  likewise  deserve  our  most  serious  consideration, 
how  far,  in  a  well-regulated  city,  those  humourists  are  to  be 
tolerated,  who,  not  contented  with  the  traditional  cries  of  their 


588 


SPECTATOR. 


[N^O.  251. 


forefathers,  have  invented  particular  songs,  and  tunes  of  their 
own  :  such  as  was,  not  many  years  since,  the  pastry-man,  com- 
monly known  by  the  name  of  the  colly-molly-puff  ;^  and  such  as 
is  at  this  day  the  vender  of  powder  and  wash-balls,  who,  if  I  am 
rightly  informed,  goes  under  the  name  of  Powder  Watt. 

"  I  must  not  here  omit  one  particular  absurdity  which  runs 
through  this  whole  vociferous  generation,  and  which  renders 
their  cries  very  often  not  only  incommodious,  but  altogether 
useless  to  the  public  ;  I  mean  that  idle  accomplishment  which 
they  all  of  them  aim  at,  of  crying  so  as  not  to  be  understood. 
Whether  or  no  they  have  learned  this  from  several  of  our  affected 
singers,  I  will  not  take  upon  me  to  say ;  but  most  certain  it  is, 
that  people  know  the  v/ares  they  deal  in  rather  by  their  tunes 
than  by  their  words ;  insomuch,  that  I  have  sometimes  seen  a 
country  boy  run  out  to  buy  apples  of  a  bellows-mender,  and 
ginger-bread  from  a  grinder  of  knives  and  scissars.  Nay,  so 
strangely  infatuated  are  some  very  eminent  artists  of  this  parti- 
cular grace  in  a  cry,  that  none  but  their  acquaintance  are  able  to 
guess  at  their  profession  ;  for  who  else  can  know  that,  '  Work  if 
I  had  it,'  should  be  the  signification  of  a  corn-cutter. 

Forasmuch,  therefore,  as  persons  of  this  rank  are  seldom 
men  of  genius  or  capacity,  I  think  it  would  be  very  proper,  that 
some  man  of  good  sense,  and  sound  judgment,  should  preside  over 
these  public  cries,  who  should  permit  none  to  lift  up  their  voices 
in  our  streets,  that  have  not  tuneable  throats,  and  are  not  only 
to  overcome  the  noise  of  the  crowd,  and  the  rattling  of  coaches, 
but  also  to  vend  their  respective  merchandizes  in  apt  phrases,  and 

^  This  little  man  was  but  just  able  to  support  the  basket  of  pastiy 
which  lie  carried  on  his  head,  and  sung  in  a  ver}"^  peculiar  tone  the  cant 
words,  which  passed  into  his  name  Colly-Molly-Puff.  There  is  a  half  sheet 
print  of  him  in  the  London  Cries,  M.  Lauron,  del.  P.  Tempest,  exc.  Grain* 
ger's  Biographical  Dictionary  of  England. — L. 


Ko.251.] 


SPECTATOR. 


589 


in  the  most  distinct  and  agreeable  sounds.  I  do  therefore  hum- 
bly recommend  myself  as  a  person  rightly  qualified  for  this  post : 
and  if  I  meet  with  fitting  encouragement,  shall  communicate  some 
other  projects  which  I  have  by  me,  that  may  no  less  conduce  to 
the  emolument  of  the  public. 

"  I  am.  Sir,  &c. 

Ralph  Crotchet.'' 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


3  0112  079781214 


